ANGER
by km1958
Summary: Harm's anger after Paraguay takes him away from everything he's had at JAG
1. Walking Away

A/N: For those of you who've read my previous story and shorts, you know I'm a Harm/hero fan. Hopefully, you'll find this enjoyable. As I've said before, I frequently thought there were more plausible, more logical or realistic, paths to take our characters down... because I found many of the storylines dissatisfying, to say the least.

After my last long story (written a million years ago), I thought I wouldn't post another until it was complete. I've found that I can't actually get it written without some kind of pressure---so I'm starting. Since it isn't done I wanted you to know up front---for those who want to delay until the final part is posted. It should be 5 or 6 chapters, no telling how long each chapter will be. I can't make any claims---like everyone else, I'm just an amateur...

Standard disclaimers apply.

Chapter 1

Although it was no-where near dawn, the sky was lightening. They were coming out of hell, leaving the dark behind and heading toward…well, what he anticipated would be a different kind of hell. It was getting lighter outside the windows of the small aircraft. Artificial light; radiating up into the hazy sky over metropolitan D.C.

It was still early summer, but there was a weather system stalled over the whole region. This level of heat and humidity was more like July or August than early May. Didn't that just fit with everything else? The whole thing was almost as bad as it could possibly have been. Almost. None of the good guys were dead, but some weren't too far from it. Talk about a classic FuBaR; some of it was indeed _Beyond all Repair_.

These thoughts, and what seemed to be a million others, were swirling around Harm's brain, filling his head with chaos. He rubbed his eyes again, trying to release the pain, or soothe it, or dull it… or anything but the constant throbbing. He hadn't slept during the long flight; every time he closed his eyes, the pounding elevated to jackhammer level.

The previous night, he could hardly keep his eyes open. He figured he'd gotten yet another concussion but there was just too much riding on his ability to function for sleep. Now that circumstances allowed him to sleep, he couldn't. He longed for a cold cloth and a hot shower. And oblivion.

So his brain kept swirling. And with it, his simmering anger was held just below the boiling point.

Not far from his seat, Mac seemed barely sane. For the most part, she was marginally coherent, the trauma of the previous days taking its toll. Occasionally, she'd focus on Clay resting in the back. The rest of the time, she seemed, well… traumatized.

The landing into Andrews was uneventful. A couple of dark vehicles waited along the runway, occupied no doubt by suits that were none too pleased with the whole thing, start-to-finish. And, in spite of some resolution, the screw-ups outweighed by far everything else. There was way too much collateral damage and way too many unhappy bureaucrats. The fact that he defused the stinger missile threat was only marginal consolation, because of the fallout there, too. A wrecked plane that belonged to some innocent bystander who was now demanding restitution, multiple sites of fires and explosions that had the Paraguay government riled up, two hostages murdered that would undoubtedly prompt international outrage and agents that were half dead.

Well, to hell with all of it! He'd finally been pushed to his limit. All these years, in the face of various adversities, he'd sucked it up, put one foot in front of the other and carried on. Not this time. Not this way.

He started down the stairs, aware that the gunny was helping Mac. He knew Gunny was injured too, but he just couldn't find it in himself to care, especially if it meant dealing with her. Because now, she'd said it: Never. The dance was done…it was done and over with. He saw the admiral standing nearby and led their small group of three that way. Forefront in his mind: time to get the hell out of here.

A harsh voice cut the heavy air, "What the hell happened down there?" The airfield, itself, was well-lit, but, like all CIA activities, they were in the shadows. _Did these people ever stop playing these ridiculous spy games?_ He saw that Harm was navigating under his own power and that another marine was assisting a member of his staff. "Mac?"

Of the three, only Gunny responded to the admiral's presence. "The Colonel is uninjured, Sir; just a bit battered."

"Galindez, is that you? What the hell? I get a call at 2300 telling me to be out here ASAP. No explanation. You want to fill me in? Dammit, Rabb, what the hell? You turn your back on everything else, and look how this ends up." He paused, rubbing his hand over his head. "Once again, there seem to be a lot of feathers ruffled and a lot of collateral damage. Dammit, Rabb!" He paused again, noticing activity over by the plane.

Mac responded to the raised voices behind her. She turned to see several others---no one she recognized---helping get Clay out of the plane and toward one of the cars. She turned back to admiral, seemed to attempt to speak, but turned away again and headed toward the others. Watching her half walk – half stumble, he returned his attention to Harm, raising his voice with each word.

"What the hell happened down there? And what the hell happened to her? What the hell happened to Webb? Dammit, Rabb!" He paused and ran his hand over his head once again. Lowering his voice he continued. "I suppose you expect me to process you back now, is that right? You went and saved the day, 'though right now it doesn't seem saved to me. I imagine you're expecting to come back the hero. Well, I've had it with your st…". Harm cut him off, more abruptly than he had ever spoken to a superior.

"No, Sir! I don't expect anything." He turned to see Mac leaning toward the cluster of men surrounding Webb. The anger, the frustration --- the headache --- was beginning to get the upper hand. He turned back to the admiral, "I'm done. She's your problem now." Leaving a speechless admiral in his wake, he walked further into the shadows before disappearing from sight.

After getting Mac and Gunny into his car, he followed the others up to a health clinic just off the Beltway in Maryland. The ride was filled with tension as Mac sat silently. He could tell she was teetering on the edge. A damned thin edge. Gunny was in better shape, but he wasn't offering any insight. The admiral decided it would just be best to hold off on anything else until everything, and everyone, was stabilized. As soon as they pulled in, she left his car and returned to Clay. Gunny and the admiral kept a bit of a distance in following them into the building.

While it looked to the outside like an elite spa, it was really a high security clinic for the CIA. A team was waiting at the door with a gurney for Webb and other staff greeted both Mac and Gunny, escorting them toward private rooms. Mac kept her focus on Webb until they disappeared into a different room and closed the door. Then she allowed herself to be led into her own room. Chegwidden had never seen her so compliant; that in and of itself told of the depth of this.

Gunny was no longer under his command and Webb never had been. But she was part of his staff, and by God, he wasn't being relegated to a waiting room! If they didn't want to deal with him, they shouldn't have called him in on this. So he followed along into the room where staff was setting her on an exam table and beginning the process of gathering vital signs. One of the staff members began to ask him to step out but his glare told her otherwise. She tried to get Mac to respond, using her to influence the admiral's defiance, but Mac continued to stare toward the door. She didn't seem fully aware of what was going on around her, and while she did follow basic commands, she didn't respond verbally to any requests. After some time, she began to inquire about Webb and the longer they had no information for her, the more anxious she became.

It wasn't all that long before he was able to understand that she had no real physical injuries, that she was exhausted and stressed and that some sleep, some recovery time and some reassurance about Webb would get her somewhat functional. Gunny, too, was stable and treatment for his injury was straightforward. He seemed to be faring the best of this little quartet. And speaking of a quartet, he needed to find out what Rabb really meant by his statement before disappearing.

**********************************

He couldn't ever remember being more relieved when walking in the door. He dropped all his gear as soon as he was inside and went in search of some aspirin. Gulping down four, he began his task. He had decided on the ride home that he needed a plan---a plan that didn't included hanging around dealing with the fallout of all of this. He was out of the Navy, he was done with the CIA, and he needed to extend that to personal relationships too. He stripped down to his boxers and threw the clothes in the washer. Then he grabbed the phone. Even with the headache, he was coherent enough---and had picked up enough CIA paranoia--- to use the landline; cell records were too easy to access.

Ring, Ring… Even though it was so late, the woman on the other end picked-up, recognizing the number displayed on the Caller ID.

"Hello?"

"It's Harm."

"Harm! Honey, is everything OK?"

"I need a place to lay low for a couple of days. I hate to ask---can you help me out?"

"Of course, hon. But can you give me an hour or so?"

"Yeah, it'll probably take me longer than that. I need a place to keep the car, too."

"The garage is secure … still the same code; you remember where to park?"

"Yeah. See you later…" With that he placed the receiver back into the cradle. He stepped away from the phone only to turn back to it, pick it up and dial his own number. That would limit the ability to check the redial. He hated himself for even thinking it. _Had it really come to this_? He gave himself a shake and headed toward the shower.

A couple of hours later found him filling his sea bag with his civilian clothes. Dirty uniforms were already down in the SUV to be left with the drycleaner on another day; the rest were hanging neatly in the closet. He wouldn't need them again.

The bed was stripped, the linens in the wash; the dryer was already running. He had folded the blankets and stacked them with the pillows on the foot of the bed. The few extra linens he owned were already covering furniture, the rest would cover the other pieces when he took them from the dryer.

This was the scene when the knock came on the door. He ignored it, knowing it could only be one of a very few possibilities. He didn't want to talk to any of them---some even less than others. After a few minutes, a second knock and a second few minutes, the knob turned and the door opened. _Damn, why didn't I lock that door?_ The admiral stepped in and surveyed the apartment.

He stepped to the bottom of the stairs and watched as Harm continued without pause.

"So, it's come to this?"

"Yeah." A couple of minutes… silence.

"You're just walking away?"

"Yeah." More silence.

"It doesn't have to be this way." The admiral rubbed his hand over his head for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past couple of hours. "We don't have to let this play out."

"Oh, no? What exactly were you going to say before I left?" Again, more silence. Then…

"Harm…"

"No." He took a breath and finally turned to the man he had worked for---and respected---for years, with anger and resentment that surprised even himself. "It can't be any other way. You wanted a resignation, you got it. You got your deniability. But they all already know you turned your back on the Marine code. You'll lose any remaining credibility you have." He paused himself, sighed and looked away. "Just look at how the last year's been…" he trailed off, then spoke again with a voice of resignation and defeat: "And, honestly, I don't want to be there after this anyway. Let somebody else deal with the fallout now."

"What about the colonel?"

"What about her? She's made her choice. I'm not doing this again." He began to raise his voice, with each word his anger became stronger. "I'm not doing any of this anymore. I've had it with everything---Webb, her," pause… "you … everything. I've done my share for king and country. I've done my duty…" He finally took a breath, looked around and then turned back to the task at hand. "Close the door on your way out." It was a while before the Admiral spoke again.

"For what it's worth, Harm. I am sorry about all of this. If you ever need anything..." With that, he left.

***************************************

It was at least another hour, with dawn just on the horizon, before he turned into the garage; as always the check-point manned and guards at the ready. He entered a code into the keypad and the gate opened while they looked on. He didn't come around here often and it had been years since he actually drove into the exclusive residential complex. The money that changed hands here and the activities behind these walls were far from the military life he knew so well. But he'd known her since his days at Georgetown Law and the bond they formed then, both looking for their own place in world in spite of some difficult challenges, remained as strong as ever. Worlds apart, the trust remained. And when he needed somewhere to turn but nowhere else to go, she was there.

A short walk to the elevator, another code entered and he was transported from the world he knew to some place so far removed, it may well have been a million miles away. The décor was tasteful in its sophistication, opulent in its simplicity. It was everything he, and the military, wasn't. But it was safe---hidden from the world he usually walked in---the world he used to walk in. He rang the bell to the huge suite within, barely able to stand after so many hours. She almost gasped when she opened the door and looked at the man she'd known so well, for so long---and barely recognized now. Immediately, she knew the depth, even without the details, of the situation.

"Harm! Baby, come in… Oh, honey, what's happened? Come sit." She led him by the hand and called for an assistant. "Get his bag and put it in my room. Then go cover his car---it's the red corvette?" She turned to look at Harm as she gave the directions, confirming the details. The young man, Harm knew he must be well-trusted to be in her inner circle, picked up the bag and disappeared. She turned back to Harm. "Honey, we can keep it out of sight but they may still be able to track it. I don't really trust the electronics to hide the GPS signal."

"It's OK. I removed it. Set it right on the counter for anyone to see---it they actually look. I could use a drink. Got anything?"

"Not for someone in your condition. Come on, sweetie, let's get you in bed, we'll talk later." She led him to the bedroom he knew to be her own private room. Only those closest to her came in here. Other staff, well-paid but well -watched didn't come this far---and certainly not clients. There were other bedrooms for that, all with different themes, depending on who she, or another employee, was 'entertaining' at the time. Given the hour, he knew they were probably empty. The assistant came back with a hot beverage in his hand, and handed it to her.

"I thought this might be helpful, Ma'am."

"Thank you, Tommy. Make sure there are no disruptions." While he had responded so quickly before, he now hesitated. He had worked for her for almost a year, privy to the most private situations, but he'd never seen nor heard of this man before. "It's alright. He's an old friend. You'll treat him just as you treat me." He nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

She offered the mug to Harm, keeping her hand on it while he placed it to his lips and took a few sips, then she set the mug on the nightstand and began to undress Harm. He trusted her enough to let her---and he was just too tired to stop her. She offered his a few more few sips midway through her task, which he obediently swallowed. She could smell the scent of his soap so she stripped off even his underclothing and led him into the bed. He couldn't keep his eyes open and she stroked his face and hair gently, whispering until he fell into deep sleep. When she was sure he wouldn't stir, she slid in beside him, laying her hand on his chest with the hope that would keep him quiet until he was somewhat rested.

**************************************

His first awareness was that the headache, though lessened, still remained. It was barely light but he could see her in the sitting area, reading near the window. She had no lamps on but what little natural light came through the windows; even that hurt his eyes. The headache was increasing by the second and he moaned. She was near him in seconds, again whispering quietly, using feather-light touches to calm him.

"Time?"

"About eight."

"Good. A dreary day." He put his head back for a moment and just enjoyed the soft strokes. He didn't think he'd be able to get on with the plan if he had to contend with bright sunshine all day. He started to get up from the bed but she stopped him with her hands on his chest.

"Honey, that's eight, P.M. You've been sleeping for over fourteen hours. And you're not going anywhere now. Whatever you want to do can wait until morning. Right now, I'm getting some nourishment in you and then you can tell me what's been happening." He closed his eyes and shook his head.

It was over an hour later that he'd eaten a light meal then showered. He was lying on her sofa and she replaced a cool compress on his forehead. He'd barely said a handful of words. She began to gently caress his temples and studied what she saw of his face. She knew a lot of men over the years, and she knew a lot about men. But Harmon Rabb was a different story altogether.

He was a man of few words---except in the courtroom. She had seen him once, several years prior, interviewing a witness on the stand, objecting occasionally while studying opposing counsel, and then giving a closing argument. She could only guess that his skills had improved over the years. They must have: she'd read his name in the paper a time or two in relation to legal proceedings of the government. And his ability must have been recognized and appreciated: a few years previous he'd been cited as counsel to the congresswoman from Michigan and he was involved in some terror-related trial aboard a ship several months previous.

Still, when it came to personal interaction, he didn't say much. They'd had a few serious conversations over the years but he was not what she'd call a chat-ter. In the beginning they were friends. She'd worked at a small place that was a popular hangout for new law students like him, full-time students but older than many of the 22- and 23- year old students new to Georgetown Law. Most of them had seen a lot more of life than those younger kids. But Harm, he was even more different. There was a sadness about him, almost a despair. It touched her heart and drew her toward him.

But her work didn't provide her enough money and she didn't have the drive to go back to school, nor to enter into the conventional world of the career woman. It wasn't that she planned it---she didn't seek this life. But once it started, and she became comfortable with it, she took control over the development and became a rather high-priced 'professional'. She remained under the radar and kept her business simple. She was known for her discretion and prudence. And the girls who worked with her, she'd kept them in line with the same practices. They kept no records and everything was cash. Harm had given her legal advice over the years, but she never asked for anything that would put him at risk. He had recommended other attorneys to her, but she never proceeded until she got his take on their suggestions and method of representation. Fortunately, there wasn't much of a need... She worked hard at maintaining the level of her clandestine activities.

He was dozing; the shower alone had tired him out. The headache was manageable, as long as he didn't move too much; then the throbbing started again. After a few more minutes she shook his shoulder gently, trying to rouse him.

"Harm, honey, come on… Back to the bed. You'll feel better after another night's sleep." He blinked a few times, almost as though he was disoriented---yep, a concussion for sure; then seemed recognize her as he began to rise. He stopped after the first step.

"What about tonight? Don't you have to *work*? I can get lost for a while…" She was shaking her head and kept pulling him toward the bedroom, even as he spoke.

"Darling, I cleared my schedule. It's only you tonight. Let me help you." As they neared the bed, she helped him remove his shirt and she began to embrace him. He bristled. The anger was back and it was palpable.

"Honey, let it go. You know it'll make you sleep better, feel better…" He shook his head, that sadness that she saw in him all those years ago, was back---in spades. The loss he experienced just before they met was intense, and it enveloped him. This was worse---it seemed to completely consume him. And she knew him well enough to know it made him angry… angrier, actually.

"No." She never known him to be like this: as though he were defeated by it all. "I don't want…"

She ran her hands down his arms and took his hands. "I can be whatever… whoever you need…"

She knew him so well. And he knew she knew. Though their interactions were infrequent, moreso in the past couple of years, she still knew all of it---he confided in her. It was all so slow in building, over so many years. He confided in her, bit by bit, and she listened, remembered, always supported and empathized with him. It was what made her so good at what she did, so successful with those who 'hired' her so loyally and confidently.

At that, his reaction became stronger. "No!" He pulled away, turned away. The sadness became pain, and it radiated off him. "She doesn't want me…"

"Oh, honey. I can't believe…"

He wiped at his eyes then grasped the back of his neck, rubbing a bit. "She made another choice… I can't watch it again. I'm NOT going to watch it again!"

She approached him from behind, and put her hands in front of his shoulders as she rested her face against his back. She stayed that way for a minute or two, until she felt his tension begin to release.

"Come on, sweetheart, get some sleep." She led him to the bed and guided him to lie down. Again, she lay beside him but he turned away. She caressed his back and whispered, "It's OK… sshh... it'll be OK…"

***End of chapter 1***


	2. Left Behind

Chapter 2, Left Behind

The weather finally broke the following day. At least it made Harm's tasks easier to accomplish. His plan included tying up loose ends. He slept the night through and was more prepared to handle the day. The anger still simmered and he avoided any discussion, even though she'd tried to engage him in conversation. Finally she backed off, knowing him well enough to see that he was near his limit. He was too raw; it was all still too new.

He'd made some calls before he left, and talked with some property managers about supervising the building. Though he had gone through all his available cash as well as some of the equity in the old structure, but there was enough left, as well as continuing rental income to allow for commercial oversight. He took the Metro to Union Station then walked to the loft. He stood in the shadow of a nearby building for a while, fully aware that this paranoia was ridiculous, but he couldn't help himself. His anger was clouding his reason---all he wanted was to avoid those involved at all cost.

He'd finished inside that last night, he just needed to get the Lexus and deal with that. After stopping at the dry cleaners as he planned, he headed out to the dealership where he purchased it and used the repeat customer line, along with his charm, to get a reasonable deal up front. Knowing he could have gotten a better deal selling it outright, he consoled himself that he was done with it. He paid the utilities for six months, cancelled the land line, and cleared what remained of his bank accounts. He had a few last things to arrange and then he would head out.

It was time to move on... He wouldn't look back. At least that's what he told himself.

*******************************

JAG HQ  
Falls Church, VA  
0843 EDT, Monday (1.5 weeks after the return from Paraguay)

"Admiral on Deck!"

He walked forcefully through the glass doors that separated JAG ops from the main corridor on the third floor. "As you were," he directed, as he headed to his office.

A 0700 meeting at the Pentagon had ended on time, but as always, the commute was not the best way to start the week. Even though he was heading in the opposite direction of the majority of commuters, it still took too long to travel the distance between the two points. Considering it was around 10 miles as the crow flies, the 45 minutes was far more than he liked. The commute was an extension of so much of the politics of Judge Advocate General: a waste of productive time---a DAMNED waste of time. But in spite of the hassle, at least he wasn't any later.

His chief of staff was set to return this morning. It had been too long since she was on site. But the whole affair wasn't easily overcome. While Gunny had been returned to active duty within a couple of days, and sent on his way, Webb had only been released from the hospital the previous Saturday. He and Mac had been receiving intensive counseling (on the agency's tab and by agency trained professionals---it was their op, after all), both individually and joint.

The experience had really taken a toll on them both. Webb had physical injuries to deal with at the same time---watching him while he healed proved to be the primary obstacle she faced. Their captivity had been traumatic in and of itself, especially when the execution of the two missionaries was thrown into the mix, and Mac was experiencing a variation of survivor's guilt. Not only was she still alive, she really was the only one that did not have physical injuries from which she needed to recover. Even Gunny, while they were less severe, brought injuries back from that God-forsaken situation. She knew that Harm had a concussion but she hadn't talked to him yet. She knew they both needed to recoup, to cool down and get a little perspective back.

The admiral had left a message on her voicemail to report in at 0900 and not before. He wanted to make sure he was there when she arrived. He didn't know what her reaction to the change of personnel would be, but he wanted to be on site to handle it. The entire staff was not dealing well with the changes. There were minor skirmishes daily between the support staff and the younger attorneys were floundering. Bud was trying to handle some of it, and while his skill level had approved immensely and he was able to offer some assistance, he was not by nature a leader. Turner had not formed relationships with most of the junior staff and certainly none of the enlisted; even if he had, he was swamped handling everything that required someone higher in rank. He was the only one higher than lieutenant. The longer it all went on, the worse it got… And it had been going on almost since March, when Rabb had tangled himself in the mess surrounding Singer's murder. The tension level grew to open anxiety and either Sims or Coates had a meltdown almost every day for the past two weeks.

He was damned sick of it, but somewhat at a loss on how to restore his desired level of good order and discipline. Hell, he'd be happy if they'd all get some work done---just a little bit done. He'd about had it with the lack of productivity.

He figured there'd be some backlash once the colonel arrived but he wasn't sure where it would come from; he wasn't sure how the staff would react. It seemed the staff was more upset about the resignation of Rabb than the trauma of MacKenzie. He wondered if it was because they were already living with Rabb's absence, and the Paraguay op was only a story they heard---and they didn't even hear most of it, certainly not the worst of it; it was classified. It wasn't actually real to them. What they did know for sure was that Rabb was gone and no-one---not even the Roberts family had heard from him. The staff's reaction to her wasn't even something he could predict. As it turned out, there hadn't been time for a reaction.

"Tiner, contact the Security Desk and tell them to call as soon as Colonel MacKenzie passes them. Let me know immediately so I can meet her at the door. Let's try to maintain some level of decorum here."

"Um, Sir… The colonel already arrived. About a half hour ago." The admiral scanned the bullpen, returning his eyes to Tiner, who was looking decidedly troubled.

"Where is she now?" The following pause was not something the Admiral welcomed. "Tiner?"

"She left right away, Sir. She came in, and she looked OK. But it wasn't even 30 seconds before she noticed Commander Rabb's office was dark. Then she saw his name plate was missing. She looked at everyone but nobody said anything. There wasn't anything to say. Then she ran back out. It think Lieutenant Roberts tried to follow her but I don't think he caught up with her."

"Dammit! Just dammit!" I don't know how long I'll be out..." The admiral was already heading toward the stairs as he spoke. "Dammit it all to hell!"

It wasn't but a few minutes before he was back in his car and back on the road. He knew exactly where she'd be.

She arrived at the converted warehouse and bound up the stairs. She knew better that to even attempt the elevator when all she wanted… needed... was to talk with Harm. Mac had noticed that his Corvette was not nearby, nor was his Lexus. She knocked on his door, banging when he didn't answer. After two full minutes, she singled out his key on her key ring and unlocked the door. She gasped when she saw the state of his apartment.

She walked in, almost in slow motion. The reality of it was reigniting the horror she'd been living since the whole Paraguay episode began. She was seeing it---but her mind was reeling with denial. The furniture was covered and his desk was cleared. The books were on the shelves but most of the personal items were gone. The only ones that remained were connected to her: a couple of photos and some mementos she'd given or shared with him over the years. The counter tops were cleared, no kitchen items were visible. She looked in the cupboards and saw that everything was stored inside. The refrigerator was empty and the cupboards were bare of any kind of perishable food. She walked around the dining area knowing that under the large sheet was the table and chairs---the very place they had shared so many working dinners, so many conversations, so much after-hours work and so much friendship. She came to the stairs and walked into his private space. Other than that impromptu dinner so many years previous---an entire lifetime, she'd only been in that space once. And then it was more passing through on her way to the bathroom during the night than actually being in his bedroom.

The situation in there was the same. The bed was unmade, the blankets folded and stacked. The dresser and nightstands were bare. The bathroom reflected the fact that no one lived there anymore. She looked in the drawers and saw most of his clothing was gone. One drawer had uniform accessories; the rest were empty. She approached the closet and her apprehension grew even more. She opened the doors, knowing yet fearing what she would see. Only his uniforms remained; standard issue shoes and boots, all cleaned and polished as was his practice after he last wore them, were lined up neat and organized. His sneakers, his hiking boots, his casual shoes, all gone. Along with all his civilian clothing. She knew he could take what he owned with him in one trip: he was fastidious in his habits---he never kept excess belongings. Everything had a purpose and was in good shape---if not, it was out of there.

She reached out to touch one of the uniforms. The tactile sensation brought the reality of it all to her. Tears started to roll down her cheeks and her hand recoiled as it all settled on her. She staggered back to the stairs and, turning, stumbled down them. She lost her balance as she reached the main level and fell back, landing in a sitting position on the second step.

This was how the admiral found her a several minutes later. He had pushed the envelope the entire drive. The hour of day had been somewhat helpful. Most area residents were at work and visitors to the D.C. area were not really out and about yet. So he was less than 10 minutes behind her. She had left the door open on her arrival and he saw her, still sitting on the second step, staring straight forward while tears continued down her face. She wasn't crying per say, she was barely breathing.

"Colonel?" No response. He moved so that he was standing straight in front of her. "Mac?"

He took a breath and sat next to her on the step. When he touched his fingers to her shoulder she turned to look at him. The whole thing overwhelmed her, her mind a mess---a mass of confusion, of dreadful fear, of horror, of regret.

"Where is he?

"I don't know."

"Where'd you send him?"

"I didn't send him anywhere. He left. You knew he resigned."

At that, it all came crashing together. All of it. The interminable days of counseling, the exhaustive flight back, the helpless observation of Webb's recovery, the missile and all the aspects of the horrific crash, the fighting with Harm, the killing, the missionary's betrayal, Webb's torture, the attempted rescue and subsequent capture. Before that it was the contention with Webb, the snide comments that he needled her with throughout the whole affair, the disagreement with Harm before she left, the weeks of helpless waiting during his arrest and brig-time, the anger she felt when she realized what had been going on.

But even before that; she had already been unbalanced by the same old insecurities when she realized early on that he was hiding something from her. She was predisposed to let that kind of thing get to her---it didn't occur to her that his actions had nothing to do with her. But in the end, she came to understand that the only connection to her was his own insecurities---that he didn't want to share that he'd failed his younger brother so much that Sergei got involved with Loren Singer. So many events, some benign, some manageable challenges, some hateful horrors, all together were completely consuming. The volatile mix got its final detonation in the realization that came with the admiral's words.

And the explosion was immense.

"And you let him?! You didn't let him resign before, or me either, for that matter. How could you do this now? How could you let this happen?" Her voice was rising with each passing word. "He's been the most loyal officer you have in your command, not to mention capable---in any situation. He came for Webb and me when the rest of you were going to let us die. Oh yeah, I know… well, screw your deniability! What happened to you? What happened to the code? To OUR code? Oh my God!" She was now screaming. "He's the only one who did the right thing in this whole God-awful affair and you're punishing him! He doesn't deserve this… He doesn't deserve this…" And with that, she collapsed, crying deep, remorseful, sobs. The horror if it all finally released all the pain, bursting up from the deepest part of her.

The admiral remained frozen by her words. So much of it was true. But he had attempted to fix it. It would have been difficult for at least a little while, just long enough for a show of it. But in time… He finally stood and approached her. Bending to one knee in front of her, he tried to calm her.

"I tried to tell him to come back, Mac. He wasn't having it. I've never seen him that angry before." He paused long enough to let her absorb it all, to catch her breath. "My God, Mac, what really happened there?"

"It was awful… terrible… But I can't tell you---they won't let me." She took a few more breaths, then looked him in the eye. "What do you mean he wasn't having it? How could he not? He belongs at JAG, the Navy is his life. Hell, he IS the Navy! How could he not come back?"

It took a minute or two to struggle with saying anything more. He doubted it would change anything. He stood and reached out, to help her stand, thinking the action would distract her enough to pass it by. In his hesitation, he didn't notice that she was indeed noticing him.

"What, what aren't you telling me?"

He made that face his usually made when he didn't like what he had to say. Then he looked away.

"He said you made your choice…" A renewed look of horror came over her. He steadied her as she began to sway and led her to a nearby seat. Her voice was more heart wrenching than he had heard in a long time, was more than he had ever want to hear again in his life.

"Oh my God, what have I done?"

TBC


	3. A New Life

Chapter 3

Late June  
Central Pennsylvania

Mrs. Sarah Rabb lowered herself into the seat while her grandson held the car door. She knew he was angry. It didn't take much for his anger to surface these days. At least on this occasion, it was justified; even she had to admit that. Well, not to him, not yet.

Harm had shown up, unannounced, on a Sunday evening in mid May. He really didn't say much then, nor since. She knew he was troubled but it was not her way to pry. She also knew that he would work through it in his own time, in his own way. The only thing she took note of was that he had a lot of dirty clothing with him; it had taken her most of a day to get his laundry done, so she knew he had been on the road for a while. As near as she could piece together, he had left his apartment about two weeks previous then stayed with a friend for a few days. She had been unable to get an understanding of where he'd been between then and the day he showed up. Then two calls had come just a few days after his arrival.

He'd asked her not to tell anyone he was there. There had been a bit of contention over that: she was unwilling, as he should have known she would be, to lie---that was not her way either. What he hadn't realized was that she had become very adept at not lying, but not giving away information either. Both callers hadn't come out and asked for him. Both, maybe in their interest of sparing any upset to an elderly lady---something she exploited---had simply commented that they were looking for him. She was able to fend them off with minimal effort: 'If I have the opportunity, I'll tell him you inquired…'.

She relayed the message from two men, one called himself Bud, the other Sturgis. She'd known Harm had a friend named Sturgis many years previous, but she'd met him only briefly on one occasion and that was 20 years previous. As far as she knew, he didn't return either call and no one had called since.

He slammed the door with a bit more force than necessary and the buckling of his seat belt was a bit rougher than required.

"Well, I'm never doing this again. This is it."

She thought she might downplay it a bit. "Oh, Harm, it was just a nice dinner between neighbors."

"A nice dinner between neighbors! Are you kidding me? The last thing I need are more of your women friends inviting us to dinner. What's it been? About two a week and every Sunday for the last month? I find it hard to believe you're 'invited' to someone's house for dinner this regularly. I mean it, Gram. No more."

"You don't think people would invite me over? Is this what you're saying?" That grabbed him.

"Well, no… that's not it. Well, yes, yes it is." Her attempt had worked for all of three seconds. "Do they? No, really! Do they invite you over that much?" The gig was up---she couldn't lie about it.

"Actually, no. But there's no reason to be upset. They were perfectly nice; they couldn't have been more hospitable to you."

"Hospitable, my ass! Those women were on the prowl." He'd raised his voice quite a bit, something he rarely did, especially around her. And she did feel bad about it---they were a bit overbearing. "I don't know who was worse---the mother or the daughter. And even if I was looking for a wife---and it's obvious they both want to be a wife, I'm not interested in a woman ten years older than me, or ten years younger. Just for the record, I'm being generous with that ten year number. I don't want a wife at all. So stop, Gramma, just stop." They sat the rest of the way in silence.

It was still quite light when they arrived home, being close to the longest day of the year. She sat in her seat while Harm came around the car to open her door. He offered his hand out to her; even angry, he'd remembered his manners. But still…

The eighty year old woman was about five feet tall and didn't weigh much over 120 pounds. But she could still hold her own around most people, certainly her grandson. Her husband hadn't been that much taller than her, and while Harm had his Dad's and Granddad's build, he really got his height from his mother's side of the family. He looked just like her son, but he was a good four inches, or more, taller, and probably eight inches taller than her husband. So she asked him to reach her purse from the floor of the front seat. When he bent down, she grabbed his ear, just like she had many times over when he was young and mouthy. He froze.

"Harmon, I appreciate your feelings about this, I really do. But I do not appreciate your tone. I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue to me. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I apologize." She released him.

"Then it's settled. I'll not accept anymore invitations. But I do have to repay their kindness." He gave her a look and she knew he was not happy, but trying not to give her any backtalk. "I'll invite them all to Sunday dinner on the day you're going to get your plane. How does that sound?" He gave her a small smile and shook his head.

"Thanks, Gram."

"I trust you're heading out to finish chores?"

"After I change…"

"I'll get some dessert out." He gave her another 'are you kidding me?' look. "Well, how about just some iced tea?"

He headed up the stairs of the old farmhouse, a house that had been home to several generations of Rabbs for well over a century. It was at least five generations back when they came west from Philadelphia to farm. They came with others from the old country. He had heard some stories about his ancestors but he couldn't really keep it all straight anymore. There were stories of family that had immigrated from Austria but there were also stories of Scotsmen coming to a land promising to be full of opportunity. They brought their old world ways and built their new towns with the values of their original communities. There had been some inter-marrying between the two lines, among others, which explained why he was confused by it. And, really, when pressed, he didn't really care to understand it all. He didn't know any of those ancestors.

By the time he was old enough to remember, most of his own ancestors were dead. Really, the only one around was his grandmother. Oh sure, there were distant cousins and other shirt-tale relations, but it never really mattered to him. All the community acted as though they were related to each other anyway. The only other one he was sure of was his aunt, his father's younger sister. But she was rarely around.

Sarah Rabb's son was born shortly after her marriage, after her new husband had gone off to the war. Grampa Rabb had come home a time or two on furlough for a week at a time and the second visit resulted in another pregnancy for the young wife and mother. It wasn't long after that when he became one of too many casualties, and she became one of too many young widows. His aunt was still a young teenager when her brother, Harm's dad, went off to service himself. It wasn't long before she left the farm too. She wanted a different life, something more modern than an old-world community and less restrictive for a woman such as herself---for someone coming into her own during those turbulent years of the 60's. Harm saw her some over the years but never for long and they were never close. His grandmother was a proud woman; she carried the history of her culture in her demeanor, but she was never one to try to hold her children to her way of life.

So she remained on her farm, where her life had begun and where it would end one day as well. It was not a welcomed reality that she needed to scale back the farm over the years, but she was determined to maintain as much as she could. When Harm had come back almost ten years before, she never believed that he would stay. The circumstances seemed so very different. She didn't know about them this time; whereas before, she knew everything of his crash and the death of his friend.

When he arrived this time around, he didn't say much. After crashing early that first evening, and sleeping late the next morning, he'd stayed pretty quiet and low key all week. He'd run each morning for almost an hour then he'd just hang around all day. In the evening, he'd sit on the porch if the weather was even close to pleasant; if not, he'd sit in the front room---keeping to himself, deep in thought. She could tell the thought included a lot of regret. Maybe even despair.

He didn't talk, certainly didn't share the details behind his appearance but, as it turned out, he observed a lot. It was late in the day the following Sunday when he asked if they could sit and talk. He shared with her his observations of the week and presented the possibility of him staying on permanently.

"We could turn this back into a working farm, maybe some crops, maybe some animals. I know there's a lot to do to get the old place back into the same condition, but I think I can do it. We could take it a step at a time. Well, except for any crops. We have to make a decision on that soon to give it enough time."

"I don't know, Harmon. Bill is getting' up there. He's been with me a long time. I can't start projects and expect him to carry the responsibility…"

"You don't have to worry about that.

"How do you know you won't change your mind? What makes you think you are going to be willing to live the life here? This is my home, Harm. I know all the good and bad of it. I don't just stay because it is the only life I know. I love this kind of life. What makes you think you'd be happy here?"

"We've talked many times about me coming here to settle and build a life. I didn't really plan it to be just yet, but here I am. It would appear the time is here. Look, Gram, I know what I'm saying but if you've changed your mind, just say the word… it's up to you."

"That's not it at all, son. But our life here is so different from what you do. It's so different from the life your parents chose, the life you lead. I can't take on these things then find you don't want this life after all.

The reference to the life he left behind put Harm on the defense and his tone indicated that.

"Well, I don't *do* that anymore. It's not an option." He paused and took a breath, aware that he was taking things out on her that she had nothing at all to do with. "How about this? We start small. I'll spend the summer working on restoring things so we can do more in the future. How does that sound?"

"Harmon, we live the old ways here, you'd have to accept at least some of it to be able to farm, really farm, this old place again. And you'd have to be willing to respect the way we do things. In the meanwhile, it wouldn't hurt to have some things put back in working order. Let's just take things slow, we'll see what you think in a few months."

So summer came and all the activities and changes with it. The first weekend in July brought the opportunity to get his plane. Harm had met a few pilots at the local airstrip and had arranged for one to fly him down to Blacksburg. He moved Sarah to the farm and she once again resided in the same barn that had housed her before the restoration.

As he was required to do, he had registered with the Reserve. The declining state of world affairs proved to be adequate reason for him to maintain his flight status; he was pressed into it. He flew one week each month and would continue. Once he thought about it, he was close enough to retirement---and its benefits---that staying on active reserve was worth it. A chance to fly naval aircraft made it all the more palatable.

But he was determined to stay away from JAG. He found the only way to deal with it was to avoid it, to distract himself. If he thought about it, even briefly, his anger would be back. Actually, there were many things that brought it all back: minor comments, jogged memories, dreams. And the pain and loss was right back in the forefront. So, he'd run an extra mile or so. Or he'd chop wood, or he'd demolish something---that was really the most successful, and productive, way: swinging a 10 pound sledge to knock out a wall really did make it go away. At least for a little while.

He'd been back to D.C. once and would go again later in the fall. The woman friend he'd stayed with before he left had retrieved his uniforms but he needed to get some for his reserve duty. She also took care of a few remaining details that came up during the weeks that followed his departure.

Harm fell into the routine of life in the established community. He and his grandmother fell into a working relationship. She was a stern woman in many ways. While her background dictated her perspective and identity, she had lived alone for decades. She had become accustomed to making her own decisions and maintaining a certain kind of status quo. She expected Harm to work hard; she knew that farm life didn't allow for less than productive days. And she really wasn't one to molly-coddle. These were not unknown to him. During his teenage years when he spent summers with her, and during the time of recovery after his crash in the early 1990's, he came to understand her outlook. It was why he chose to stay there after his long hospitalization but before his decision to begin law school. He had thought at one time that he'd bring a wife with him, maybe even a family. But that didn't work out so well.

As the weeks went by, not only was he working on the many things in some state of disrepair, he was called upon by nearby farmers to help them with tasks. It was commonly done and it did help him learn more of the things he would eventually need to know. He came to realize quickly that there was an established way of life in the mountains of Pennsylvania, in the old world community that still existed there. Surprisingly, he found himself adapting quite easily. He adapted quickly to the traditional roles of men and women, and found he liked it. While there were definitely ways that he was still the child and she the adult, there were other ways that he was now the man of the house. And slowly he was being accepted into the community.

Two separate events would occur later in the summer. Both would prove to be aggravating.

While he was away from the farm one day, a shiny, upscale car drove up to the old farmhouse. A man stepped out and was immediately noticed by Mrs. Rabb as she worked in the vegetable garden.

"Good afternoon, ma'am." Something about him set her suspicions on edge. He spoke too formally but he projected a very familiar demeanor. And his car, not to mention his clothing, was very much out of place. She was just sly enough that she thought it might be in her favor if he underestimated her.

"Is there somethin' I can help you with, young man?" she asked him, sweet as she could be.

"Well, I hope so. I'm looking for a friend of mine. Harmon Rabb. I thought this was his family's home."

"I'm his family, or some of it, anyway. He's my grandson. Can I ask why you're lookin' for him?"

"Well, I was not too far away from here and thought I'd like to catch up a bit."

"He's not here. I'm sorry t' disappointed ya. If you give me your name, I can tell him you were lookin' for him."

"It's Webb, ma'am, Clayton Webb. Why don't I wait? I'm in no rush…" Oh, yeah, there it was---the thing that made her suspicious---an attitude, an air of presumption, something altogether unacceptable in her culture.

"Well, I don't know when I'll be seein' him. Where're ya stayin'? If you're still around the next time I talk with him, maybe he'll contact you." She seemed pleasant, but there was no mistaking her invitation to leave.

Webb looked around, thinking he might be able to charm her. "You have a nice place here. Harm talks about how great it is here and how much he loves it. Do you think I could have a tour?"

Again, it was obvious that this young man didn't understand the ways of this area, and she wasn't inclined to be particularly welcoming. Her whole attitude changed, even her manner of speaking took on a formal tone.

"Mr. Webb, it's not customary here to just show up and look around a body's home. After all, what would you think if my grandson came to your family's home and asked them the same thing you're asking me?" Then her voice took on a decidedly firmed edge, "and I've learned enough from my grandson the lawyer over the years to only welcome you official government types if you have a search warrant. Now, son, I think it best if you go on your way…"

Yep, she was Harm's grandmother alright. She'd sized him up right quick---and shut him down. Webb, for all his bluster, had enough respect for mothers---and grandmothers---instilled in him, that he backed down immediately.

"Yes, Ma'am. I apologize. Please tell Harm to contact me. He knows my number."

_Yes, son, I'm sure he does…_ Sarah Rabb was not about to be fooled by these youngsters.

Harm had not been happy to hear the story as she related it that evening. His reaction was not unexpected, even though she didn't know how all this fit together. She was smart enough in the ways of the world to know that this visit had only taken place if Harm had made an effort to avoid this Mr. Webb. If it had been on the up-and-up, the behavior of both would have been different. It did confirm that Harm had left his previous life with loose ends, but she also realized that he still was unable or unwilling to share the details with her. She was also smart enough to know that allowing the situation to fester was not good either, and that it would catch up with him one day.

The second event came much later in the summer. And it happened away from these peaceful hills.

0750  
September  
Andrews Air Force Base

Harm approached the one of the offices not far from the flight line. He'd been held back from his flight-time, having received some cryptic orders to report at 0800. He found, even though he was away from JAG, that being back on duty brought his anger back. He was edgy, tense. He kept his guard up and only relaxed when he was in the air. The flight time was great and it reminded him of all that he loved most in Navy life. It reminded him of all that he'd wanted, all that he trained for, struggled to become, and risked to continue; of all that he was. Once he was back on the ground, his entire focus was getting off the base, away from it all again.

A cryptic message. That could mean only a few different things---none of which would suggest anything welcome or pleasant. He thought he left all that garbage behind. Any reminder of his final months with the JAG corps brought the anger right back to the surface. He knew he was to blame for the choices he made regarding the Singer fiasco but, in his defense, never in his wildest imagination could he have foreseen the way it all played out. He knew Mac was upset with him from her attitude as it all began to come out during the investigation. But it was the look on her face as he was arrested that hit home. Then the lack of any support from any of this coworkers or his commanding officer during the entire month in the brig set it in stone.

When a situation came up that left Mac in a compromised position, but far worse, he couldn't do the same. At least in the brig, there were systems in place to assure his rights and to keep him safe; he wasn't happy being in solitary all that time but it did allow for his survival and some level of comfort. Mac didn't even have that much. Still as angry as he was, he couldn't regret the choice he made; she'd be dead if he had made a different choice. He did resent the price he had to pay for it; for others' choices and actions. What made it all the worse was the lack of action anyone else took on his behalf only days prior.

He entered the room, noticed a figure bending over a box and spoke immediately.

"Commander Rabb reporting as ordered, Sir."

When the admiral stood and faced him, it all surfaced. He tensed and he struggled to keep his face neutral. It took his entire military disciple to refrain from walking right back out.

"At ease, Mr. Rabb. You're looking well. How are you?" The senior officer attempted to diffuse the situation some. But Harm was unbending.

"Admiral. I was ordered to report."

"I got the paperwork that you activated your reserve status---and your flight status at that. But I'd like some of your expertise as well."

"Sir, with all due respect," he emphasized the 'due respect' just enough to get a slightly sarcastic meaning across but not enough to justify a reaction, "the Admiral must know that my designator is no longer JAG Corps." Harm knew he was pushing it and that in the world and good order and discipline, it was a stretch, but he refused to make it easy.

"I understand that, Mr. Rabb, but a situation has come up…"

"I'm sure it has. I'm also sure the Admiral has adequate, competent staff to handle it. If that's all, I'd like to report to my duty station, Sir."

The admiral had hoped that the months would have allowed him to cool off. Obviously, that wasn't the case. He was going to have to get the younger officer's attention, and then maybe he could reason with him enough to get some cooperation. His voice took on a harder edge, one Harm had heard several times over the years. And while he had become somewhat accustomed to it, his training was too deeply instilled in him to disregard the office of Judge Advocate General.

"That's not all, Commander. Snap to, Sailor! Regardless of our last interaction, I still have a few stripes on you. You'd do well to remember that." Harm snapped back to attention but he did not respond. That in and of itself told the admiral this was going to be very difficult.

"Look, Harm, I don't want to make this any worse than it is." He paused, took a deep breath and continued. "Can we just have a conversation like officers and gentlemen?" Harm remained at attention, staring at a point off to the right of the admiral's head.

"I do need your assistance. It turns out Carolyn Imes was not really a lawyer." Harm smirked at that and taunted the admiral.

"I could have told you that…" The admiral's glare quieted him.

"Actually, she wasn't certified, she falsified some documents. All of her cases have to be reviewed. I need you to review the cases you handled with her. It'll be a fair amount of tedious paperwork, but I won't push you any further than that. Get me recommendations and I can assign them to other attorneys."

"Well, I'm sorry I just can't do it. I'm only here this weekend. I won't be back again until next month. They've already given me an assignment for the next 36 hours." Then his voice changed so very slightly, but the challenge in it was clear. "Unless the admiral overrode that."

"No, Harm. I haven't. I don't want to pull rank. I was hoping you'd agree in the interest of justice. Look, I won't bring you into headquarters, even though I think everyone would want to see you there." He also played the game: adding nuance by emphasizing 'everyone' just enough to bring up another issue. Harm shook his head. The look in his eyes told the admiral this was going to be the breaking point if he pressed it. "I brought the files with me. All I ask is that you do a few at a time, and submit recommendations via courier. I'll process them on. But you already know these cases and any other review will increase the chances of them being overturned."

"Do I have your word?" He knew exactly what Harm was referring to and he was just desperate enough to agree. He also did a lot of soul-searching himself over the past few months and had a number of his own regrets. The least he could do is afford his former staff member the respect Harm had earned several times over. Mac was right: Harm didn't deserve to pay the price for about six months worth of politics and bad decisions.

So Harm went on his way and completed another weekend of flying cover. He returned home---his new home---and fell back into the routine---his new routine. There were several tasks inside the old farm house but his grandmother had tolerated them this long so he decided they could wait until the winter months. There was plenty of outdoor work to be done. The more strenuous gardening work was more than Gramma could handle on her own. And he was called upon to help some of the neighbors with early harvest. There was barn siding to repair, doors to replace and re-hang, small animal pens to re-fence, not to mention the needed repairs on the outside of the house.

He had repaired some of the porch railing and was finishing scraping old paint off the window frames on a warm, sunny day in late October. Final fall harvest would start the following week so he wanted to get as much done as he could. He lost a few pounds over the summer; even though his grandmother was a wonderful cook and the food was wholesome and healthy. The continuous physical work was building muscle and burning fat that had been neglected more than he liked. And he continued to run; he like the cardio work-out and sometimes he needed to enjoy the surrounding nature and all its undemanding and uncomplicated beauty.

He had warmed up enough that he began to sweat. He was pulling his sweatshirt over his head when he heard a car come up the gravel drive. It came to a stop not far from the porch and he heard the door open and close. He looked up when he heard a voice from the past slice open all the old wounds.

"Hi, Harm."


	4. Carrying On

Chapter 4

Mid-May  
Washington, D.C.  
North of Union Station  
1125 EDT

He sat quietly next to her for quite some time. It took a while for her to compose herself; even then she remained very still, lost in thought. Her breathing became slower, more shallow. He could tell she was turning in on herself. The admiral had received a very brief, cursory after-action report of the events in Paraguay; but even coupling that with the few details he picked up the night they returned left him mostly out of the loop. _What a damned mess!_

There was nothing he could do, so they just sat there while she absorbed it all. She said nothing, neither did he; there was nothing to say. He knew her well enough to know she was most likely replaying it over in her mind, trying to make some sense of it. He doubted she would be able to. The few facts he knew, combined with his own experiences in less-than-successful covert ops, led him to believe there was no sense to be found.

They could sit a while longer before she would be required to be somewhere else. He knew she was continuing daily appointments with the agency's psych. department. He figured this would definitely delay any progress, at least for a while; just another case of one step forward, two steps back… She was scheduled for appointments at 1400 and the plan had been that she would stay on limited duty until 1300 each day. By the time he felt she was somewhat coherent again, it was time to head that way.

After securing the loft apartment, he locked up her car and took her in his. She was easily led---that alone dictated his decision on how the rest of the day would play out.

********************************************************

The counselor noticed the change in her immediately. She knew Mac had planned to report to JAG that morning but had not expected this. A brief report to her CO had been sent, to accompany the limited duty status directive after assurances had been made that he would not be a hindrance to her recovery. Yet something must have occurred.

A joint counseling session was planned, which meant Webb would be pulled into it as well. She considered cancelling him, but it was too late. He was already there---he saw the change as well.

"Sarah?" She was withdrawn, subdued. She looked in his direction when he spoke her name but her eyes were hollow. It took uncomfortably long for a response.

"Clay." She settled into a seat and continued to avoid eye contact. The counselor just observed them.

It was several minutes of silence that followed, she remained still and withdrawn while Clay became more uncomfortable with each passing second. Finally he couldn't stand it.

"Sarah, what's going on?" Again, a response was long in coming.

"Nothing. Nothing's going on."

"C'mom, Sarah. I know you better than that. Something's happened. Tell me what…"

She finally looked at him. The discomfort from the previous minutes would be welcomed now---he was tempted to cringe under her gaze. He couldn't label it but he understood it was far greater than what he could describe.

"You don't know me at all…"

He began to interrupt her, "Sarah…"

"And don't call me that."

It declined from there. The frustration, the helplessness, the resentment, the horror, the regret all came out; even though most of it had been discussed in the previous sessions, it was shaded in a new, deeper darkness. It was all now enveloped in this element of loss. The collective traumas of every aspect of the entire debacle coalesced into defeat.

"You've never called me anything other than Mac before. But suddenly we have this intimate relationship? What the hell is that about?"

She continued with her outburst. Some of the blame he deserved---some not. So much had gotten so far out of his control that even his lack of adequate operations planning couldn't really account for it all. But he did make it worse. She referenced several comments and actions that she finally identified for what they were: manipulation. His response was supposed to justify it all---that he needed her head in that game and focused on the roles they were playing. They could not be successful if it was on all the baggage she carried from the previous, the most recent, chapter in the lengthy story with her long-time co-worker---the entire episode surrounding Loren Singer, her pregnancy, his meddling and her eventual murder. But as it turned out, it didn't really matter.

The counselor helped them through the worst, the ugliest, parts of the conversation but in the end, it was a reality that all the collateral damage wouldn't be easily undone---if at all. There would be much to discuss, both separate and joint; there would be much to overcome and there would be much to do to reclaim some level of life satisfaction. It was a necessity that there remained communication between her and Webb; the shared horror was only bearable when there was shared healing.

As the weeks went on and her pain, their pain, lessened through counseling, her sadness remained. He saw in her a grief and loss that he had only witnessed once before: that which his own mother felt when his father disappeared. He was younger then and his own loss was great but he didn't understand this loss of one so integral to daily life, of a life partner. He wasn't able to grasp that concept then, but he'd heard of it at times throughout his life as acquaintances or co-workers experienced it. It never seemed real before: just a romantic notion for those who didn't understand the life he knew and the remote detachment needed to survive his profession, his vocation really---it wasn't just a job, it was an all-encompassing life.

But the emptiness within her was wrenching, even to Clayton Webb, a man of sterile apathy. He continued to carry guilt over the sequence of events he put into motion, but he was able to recover somewhat, maybe because the effect on him was not related to others the same way it was to her. And he did feel bad about the impact it had had on Rabb. Harmon Rabb was indeed among the very select few he would call friend---even in his limited understanding of the term.

So… once able, he did some checking and found minimal leads to a current location. Harm really was flying under the radar. He found traces of the sold Lexus and the contract with the property managers but all the funds were funneled back into it for oversight and maintenance. There was no forwarding address for the postal service and e-mail was discontinued. There was no record of a government-issue cell being transferred to a privately-owned one, no record of employment and no trace of the remaining funds withdrawn before his departure. The only clue was the flight plan filed when he flew his personal airplane into the wild blue yonder without a commercial landing site listed.

Webb suspected that meant he took it somewhere he could store it and live without the need of an airfield. He knew little of Rabb's history but enough to warrant a trip, mid-summer, to rural Pennsylvania. He didn't tell Mac in advance in case nothing came of it. It turned out to be for the best. If Rabb was there, he didn't want to be located or contacted, and as much as he empathized with Mac, he couldn't bring himself to show that degree of disregard. There was already too much personal injury. It was a personal struggle, to say the least: to balance loyalties to them both, yet not be able to help either.

Mac spent the summer, herself, torn by the dilemma. He walked away. Even if his decision was based in misunderstanding, it was still his right to decide. To disregard that was to show the ultimate disrespect. But it was slowly killing her to let go of him. She vacillated between cold, vast emptiness and a longing so great her soul actually hurt. Every once in a while, the frustration, helplessness and the inability to control anything about it, would get the best of her and she'd have an outburst of anger. When the steam cleared, she'd be left again with the sense of loss.

Early on, she did a little checking of her own but found nothing of significance and, as much as she missed him, she couldn't bring herself to actually tract him. By the time she was recovered enough to think that clearly and to pursue something she wanted so desperately, he had registered with the reserve. She actually would have had some success---had she actually asserted herself at that specific time.

She occasionally went by the loft. She'd try her key---just to see if he had returned and changed the lock. Mail would be on the island; there were a few more pieces each time. She looked through it and noticed there was nothing personal.

One day, about six weeks later, she was feeling particularly distressed. It was a Saturday and the weekends were always the worst---during the week she could easily distract herself with the demands of JAG. With the departure of the senior attorney, much of the younger staff was overwhelmed. Mac's frequent appointments resulted in even more work piling up. The support staff was missing his leadership and without any apparent prospect for replacement, there was an ever-present level of discontent.

On this particular day, after a long week full of long legal cases and even longer counseling appointments, she walked slowly around the loft, trying to hold onto every memory. She had glanced at the mail, stood at the window wishing his return, paced the bedroom regretting never knowing it more intimately. She lowered herself onto the step and sat there for quite some time, lost in the memories of moments here and there. The sound of a key in the lock brought here back into the moment and she froze, filled with hope and fear.

When the woman entered, she turned toward the bedroom and saw Mac sitting on the step; she froze, too. They stared at one another for a moment or two then spoke at the same time.

"Who are you?" They stared for a few more seconds then spoke again, and again at the same time.

"A friend of Harm's. Who are you?"

Mac stood and the woman stepped toward her, then around her as she ascended the stairs to the bedroom closet. She struggled for a short bit then opened the door and began to hang the many items she was carrying. It was then that Mac recognized the cleaned and bagged uniforms.

"Why do you have Harm's clothes?"

"He asked me to get them from the dry cleaners. Do you come here often?"

"Who are you?"

"Oh, no, Colonel. I answered your question. It's your turn to answer mine." The fact that she knew who Mac was completely unnerved her. This woman, this stranger, knew her right away---which meant she must know enough about her to place her identity that quickly---and, that wasn't all, she was familiar with the layout of the apartment. She quickly decided it would be in her best interest to get along.

"Not really. Have you been bringing in the mail?"

"Yeah, a couple of times each week. What are you hoping to find here?"

"I don't know." The woman just stared at her; she found herself caving at the woman's incredulous look. "I keep hoping that he's back. Are you expecting to see him soon?"

"Actually, no." She had finished hanging the clothes then smoothed and straightened them all. She turned toward the door and started to walk past Mac. Once she realized the woman was intending to leave, she reacted---more desperately than she normally would have.

"Wait!"

"Colonel?" She watched as a lifetime of dilemmas rolled across Mac's face, giving Mac the time she needed to decide which question she most wanted to ask.

"Do you know where he is?"

"No, Colonel. I don't. He didn't say---I didn't ask. I wouldn't ask. Maybe that's why he came to me." She usually wasn't the catty type, but the depth of her relationship with Harm brought it out on this occasion.

"Please." The desperation remained.

"I'm sorry. I can't help you."

"Can't. Or won't?"

"Both. Even if I did know where he is, I wouldn't betray him. He came to me because he needed refuge from people who don't seem to understand what 'friend' means. He taught me by example a long time ago. And he's not even in love with me." She could see that Mac was close to responding, but she cut her off.

"Again, Colonel, it's my turn to ask a question. When he got to my place, he'd not slept in about 48 hours and he had a concussion. Now he wouldn't say what had happened but he's told me for years that you and he were the best of friends---and I've known for a long time that he's in love with you. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and guess that you deny it just as much as he does. Still I have to wonder why the two of you didn't lean on each other after whatever it was that happened. Isn't that what friends do? Why you didn't help each other out of such a terrible time is just beyond me. Isn't that what you military types do? What really took place that you two didn't take care of each other? That you two turned your backs on each other---especially in that situation? Colonel, you don't owe me any explanation. But maybe if you can answer that, you won't have to come here to look for a bit of peace." And with that she left.

**************************

She struggled with those words over the rest of the summer. She worked as much as allowed and tried to get on with the business of living. She made some kind of peace with Webb and he faded back into his world of shadows after a few months. She'd made it quite clear that their professional cooperation was over. She wouldn't ever be able to work with him again. There was too little trust and too many hard feelings. Her sessions for to three times a week, then two; after Labor Day, she was going just once a week. The continued counseling helped her to let it go---to wish Webb the best and send him on his way. She really did feel better, more like the marine and the woman she wanted to be, when she could let the bitterness go.

Still, she pulled away from most of her personal relationships at work; they were too closely tied to a circle of relationships that had been part of her life for a long time. Through counseling, she began to broaden her horizons to some activities outside JAG and it gave her a sense of normalcy. Maybe she could be an average person again some day.

It all changed when Carolyn Imes was arrested and charged. The work load skyrocketed with the years of cases that would need evaluation. Over the next several weeks, Mac was so busy reviewing the cases which involved her that she didn't really notice that a significant portion had been separated out. It was purely coincidental that she opened a box of completed files one afternoon while the entire staff was preparing for the next phase of the process. She saw the familiar signature including his rank, dated recently, and it began to come together in her mind. The only way this would be true were if he had been reinstated. _But when? How? And where was he now?_

She quietly left her coworkers around the table in the conference room, knocking on the door of her commanding officer a few minutes later.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Colonel. What is it?"

"About the files, Sir…" She paused, uncomfortable and off-balance with the flurry of emotion she was experiencing.

"What about them?"

"Well… Some of them… um… They were Commander Rabb's cases…"

He came to understand her discomfort and raised his hand to stop her.

"They were. They've been reviewed. Carry on, Colonel."

"Sir?" It was half a question, half a desperate plea.

"Colonel…" he paused and took a breath before continuing. "Mac. There's nothing I can tell you. I asked for a favor, it was given. In return I gave my word that I would respect…" again he paused, "…other's privacy. That's all there is to it."

"Sir, please. I just want to know how he is. If he's OK. Please…"

"Mac. Of course he is." He struggled with wanting to help her, to reassure her and offer her some comfort. While she was functioning and seemed to be carrying on like the Marine she was, he continued to recognize the loss within her. She carried an ever-present sadness about her and it affected him more than he would let on. Maybe he could offer something…

"You know the commander as well as you know yourself. You know, if nothing else, he is predicable and a creature of habit. He's had to face change before. And he rebuilt his life then. Do you think it would be any different now?" He hoped she would understand once steered toward a line of thinking.

She stared at him for several seconds then a light began to flicker in her mind.

"Yes, Sir. You're right. Thank you." With that, she came to attention, pivoted and left.

***********************************************************************

She considered his words for some time and began to form new thoughts, new possibilities. She went back to his apartment again. While the mail had been mover, it was still vacant---and obvious that no one was living there. The bed had not been made, so whoever came by would have been there only briefly. She went directly to the closet; sure enough, some of his uniforms were gone---mostly flight suits and khakis. Most of his dress blues and all his formal uniforms were still hanging there. He was back to work, but not in an office. That could only mean one thing.

The staff continued working long hours on the case reviews and she kept up with her counseling well into the fall. It was a long weekend in October when she decided it was time for her Marine training to be put to use. In spite of the months of struggle, she could not let it go---not like this. She finally had to face the fact that he was a part of her. Maybe it wouldn't be made right, but she could never find peace if she didn't try---didn't reach out one final time.

Monday was a holiday so she'd have all weekend. If it went well, she'd want the time. If not, she'd need it---to recover before returning to her everyday life. She was up early Saturday morning; she completed the tasks she needed to and was on the road well before noon. She had enough information from their years as friends to know where to look. A bit of internet research and she was on her way.

It was mid-afternoon on a beautiful Indian summer day. The drive had been very pleasant, leaving the activity of Metro D.C. and entering the quiet rural hills of Pennsylvania. Fall colors were in full bloom and the air was crisp, even though the sun was warm. It was just cool enough that she left the top up but it was bright enough to encourage her on this mission.

She had passed fields of corn waiting to be harvested as well as hay fields recently cleared. Soybean fields were already harvested and some were being planted, even then, with winter wheat. Mostly, she saw tractors working but occasionally she saw the draft horses of an Amish farmer. She passed a few houses where children played in the nice weather while clean laundry hung on lines, drying in the sunshine. As she drove, she was transported into a world completely unlike her own.

She used her new GPS and was soon driving up the driveway toward an old farm house. She saw him working on the porch and watched as he began to remove his sweatshirt. She pulled up near the end of the driveway, where it met the house and, turning off the engine, stepped out into the dooryard.

"Hi, Harm."


	5. To See You Again

To recap:

chapter 1 focuses on Harm---and sent our hero on a different path after the return from Paraguay.  
chapter 2 describes Mac coming to learn of it.  
chapter 3 the focus is back on Harm as he tries to find a new life.  
chapter 4 returns to Mac as she processes it all and tries to carry on.  
chapter 3 and 4 end at the same place---but get there from different points of view.  
included here is chapter 5. like the last chapter, it is mostly storytelling, showing us the characters a bit more.

Chapter 5, …(if only it were good) To See You Again

He stared at her a minute or two, struggling with returning anger and a flood of other emotions he refused to recognize. She stood, waiting; knowing that he'd need a moment to pull his thoughts together. Her level of discomfort rose as the fury darkened his eyes. Finally he spoke.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you."

"Mission accomplished. Now you can go." He began to turn away, back to his task.

She refused to back down that easily.

"I'd like to talk…"

He cut her off. "Nothing left to talk about. So you can just head back to D.C."

"Of course she can't, Harmon." His grandmother heard the car come up the drive and had come to the porch door, left open to let in a bit of the afternoon sun and the fresh autumn air. Observing the situation, she knew something was brewing here---in the previous months, he'd be holding something in, something painful. This was most likely a part of that---if not most of it, judging by his demeanor---and his words. "It's getting late in the day and there's not much light left." She then directed her words to this unknown, but lovely, woman. "Besides, at this hour, I imagine you've not had a meal recently, have you, dear?"

Mac just shrugged. She quickly decided that this effort was so fraught with uncertainty that she couldn't afford to disregard any possible alliance.

"There, you see, Harm. We can't send her away. It's not our way. Now get your manners out and offer the lady a seat while I go get us all…" she emphasized the 'all', "…some fresh cider. You know Mr. Conrad has the very best around here. His method comes from way-back, when his people were still Amish. I'm so glad they kept that tradition…"

She kept talking as she went back into the house. And, like any grandmother, she seemed to have eyes in the back of her head. She yelled from inside.

"Harmon! Manners!" He mumbled a 'yes, ma'am' and gestured toward one of the porch chairs, an old white wicker arm chair covered with a beautiful floral cushion.

She'd take what she could get. Hopefully, there might actually be some possibility that this grandmother of his would actually be a help. It was only a short bit before Mac could hear her footsteps coming back toward the porch.

"Well, I just can't believe my own manners. I didn't even give my grandson a minute to introduce us." She stood silently looking expectantly from Harm to Mac and back again. Finally…

"Mac, my grandmother, Sarah Rabb. Gramma, this is a former co-worker of mine. Sarah Mackenzie." He turned away, again back to the task at hand

Mrs. Rabb offer Mac a glass and sat in an identical chair nearby, taking a drink from her own glass.

"Harm, come get some cider. You can take a break from that."

"No, Ma'am, I can't. The Fry's are coming by this evening after supper and I need to get these windows painted this weekend. You're the one who told them they could come on a Saturday night…" He kept his back turned and continued scraping old paint away.

He did, however, listen as his grandmother initiated a conversation. "So you worked with my Harm?"

"Yes, Ma'am. For about eight years. At JAG. In D.C. I'm a lawyer, too." Mrs. Rabb knew she could easily get at least a little information, a bit of understanding of what had happened in her grandson's life. It wasn't really prying, she told herself---just expressing an interest in a new acquaintance, a long-time friend of Harm's.

"Navy, also?"

"No, Ma'am. A Marine… We were partners in the beginning…"

The continued small talk and getting acquainted for a while, maybe a half an hour and Harm continued to pretend ignoring them. Mac knew him well enough to know he was always listening to everything around him. She spoke more freely than was her custom and revealed things more openly---so that Harm would know what had taken place.

"Did you enjoy your summer there in D.C.?"

"Actually, Ma'am. The spring was kind of difficult and I spent some time recovering from that, both with doctors and counselors." It was so very unlike her to share such personal details; he knew that---and she knew that he knew it as well.

"Well, I have always found the simplest things in life help the most. That's why you'll stay with us tonight…" Harm tensed at her words, and turned to speak, interrupting her.

"I'm sure Mac won't have the time to stay. She probably needs to get back tonight. She could still be home before midnight…"

"Indeed not, Harmon. She came all this way. She'll have supper with us and it is just too late for a lady to be driving these country roads. And then all that way, too. I can't imagine what you are thinking…"

He glared at them both, switching his focus from one to the other. Mac knew him well enough to recognize the look in his eyes and she thought that maybe she'd pushed as far as she could.

"Really, Mrs. Rabb, I'll just go. I am a Marine; I drive under many conditions---several far worse than a pleasant fall evening. And it won't even be that late before I'm back on the interstate."

The thing was---Gramma knew him pretty well herself. She knew if this woman left now, there'd be no peace for him for years to come, if he could ever find it.

"No, no. I won't hear of it. Imagine you coming all this way and not even staying for a meal! Why, I couldn't allow it. It wouldn't be right. It's not the way we do things here." She returned Harm's glare, just as intense. "You're staying and that's it. You and Harm can catch up at table. In the meantime, we'll just let him finish his work out here and we can visit more while I get supper on the table." She handed Mac the cider glass, stood from her chair, and turned to walk inside. "I'll let you carry in the glasses. We'll call him when it's ready."

Harm was fuming by the time the door closed behind them. He knew his grandmother far better than that. For all her talk of staying out of others' business and respecting people's privacy, sometimes she was no different than anyone else. She'd been very good at allowing him his distance all these months---but this was an opportunity she wouldn't pass up. At least not without a major scene. And he didn't really want to deal with the consequences of that; they'd be long-term for sure. In the stubborn-ness department, he came by it honestly.

Once inside, Mrs. Rabb led them into the kitchen and offered Mac a seat at the small table in there. She turned to the food she'd already set on the counter and began meal preparation.

"Now you listen, child. I've been dealing with that grandson of mine a lot longer than you have. Now I don't know what led to all this and I don't need to know. But I know he's not happy and I'm guessing you aren't either…" She then challenged Mac, "Tell me that I'm wrong and you can go. This will all be forgotten." Mac lowered her head and took a long, weary breath. "I thought so. Let's just see how it all goes. Try to talk with him later. Once we sit to relax, you'll think of the right thing to say. Just have a little faith, honey."

***********************************************************

Sometime later, they called Harm in and, after washing up and putting on a clean flannel shirt, they sat to eat. It had become commonplace for him to sit quietly with his headed bowed while she said Grace. He took the time to relax a little, to clear his mind a bit. He actually came to welcome those few moments, when he didn't have to think of anything else. Mac was surprised to watch his response but she picked up quickly that it was expected in this house; that this woman lived the customs of her faith for a long time and guests were to accept and respect that.

Harm didn't say anything over dinner. If his grandmother asked him a question, he'd give a direct short answer, never turning his attention from his plate. They were just finishing when there was a knock at the front door. Mrs. Rabb motioned Harm and Mac to stay in their seats and she went to greet the guests. She showed a young couple to the dining room while the young man apologized for interrupting the meal.

"We're sorry if we come too early, Ma'am. We didn't want to keep ya waitin' on a Saturday evenin'."

"No, no, Isaac. You and Anna come right in. Can I get you some pie?" The young couple looked at each other. "Come on, you young people probably haven't had dessert if you're done with supper this early. You might as well have some---I'm getting some for Harm anyway." She was already out of the dining room and into the kitchen.

The fresh-faced young couple paused in the archway, looking awkwardly at the adults sitting at the dining table, also looking awkward. Several seconds passed before Harm extended his hand in a motion to them, offering a seat. Mac watched as the young man held her seat then sat himself next to her. They were barely more than children themselves but she noticed they both wore simple bands on their left hands. They looked at each other but kept quiet. Finally, he spoke.

"We brought the papers Mrs. Rabb told us to bring. But we don't know what else…"

Harm cut him off with a wave of his hand. "We can talk more after Gramma brings out some pie. It's pear pie. I don't ever remember having that when I was a kid. Did you ever have it?" Mac knew him well enough to know that he was trying to put them at ease. She wasn't acquainted with them at all and even she could tell they were nervous. Well, the kid was; the wife looked scared half to death.

Just then, his grandmother returned with the pie and a serving spatula. Mac had noticed the dessert plates and forks earlier and now understood their presence.

"Of course they've had pear pie. Anna's grandmother makes the best pear pie around here. She gave me her recipe but I'm sure I won't do it justice. I'm trusting you kids not to talk poorly about my efforts to her." She winked at Anna, trying to put her a bit at ease. Anna smiled shyly in return then looked to her husband.

"Oh, no, Ma'am," he answered while reaching the plate she offered and setting it in front of his wife. Mrs. Rabb nodded her head in approval as she dished a second piece and handed it to him. When she offered a plate to Harm she glared at him while he glared back. It was very brief and Mac wouldn't have even noticed the silent exchange if she wasn't already on high alert, observing any unspoken sign from him. He paused for a fraction of a second, then passed the dish to Mac. Mrs. Rabb served Harm then herself before returning the rest of the pie to the kitchen. She came back with two more glasses and the pitcher of milk, setting them on the table. She turned to Mac and spoke.

"Dear, let's go into the front room and let them talk. You bring the pie; I'll get some coffee."

They finished dessert then Mrs. Rabb asked her to help roll skeins of yarn into balls. She began to talk about a new knitting pattern she wanted to try. From there, they continued in conversation, not paying attention to the business in the other room. It wasn't all that long before the young couple preceded Harm into the room on the way to the front door.

"I'll look all this over one more time and then send out a letter. That really should do it. I can't promise, but I think it will work out just fine. I'll help you as much as we need so don't worry about it, OK?"

"Thank you, Mr. Rabb. We don't know what else to do." Just then Harm's grandmother stood up.

"I almost forgot. I promised to send an old pattern I had to your mother to look at. Wait right there."

They watched as she walked toward her sewing room then Isaac turned back to Harm.

"I don't know when I can pay for all this, Sir. But I will. I'll be getting some of the harvest money…" Harm cut him off.

"Don't worry about it. Actually, I'll tell you what. My grandmother's birthday is coming up in about three weeks. I hear you make a beautiful cake, Anna. Maybe you can make one as a favor to me so she doesn't have to make her own cake."

"Mr. Rabb, we owe more than that," said her husband. "We'll pay you what you ask."

"Well, that's what I'm asking. Now, let me ask you this, son: can you practice law?"

"No, sir, I can't."

"Well, I can't back a cake. I certainly can't decorate one as pretty as your Anna does." He turned his charm toward her. "I saw your first place ribbon at the county fair. I'd call it an even trade. Do you think you can decorate an apple cake? That's her favorite kind." Anna smiled and nodded her head. Mac didn't think she actually spoke a word the whole time she was there. Just then, Mrs. Rabb returned and handed an envelope to the girl, then gave her a quick hug. A few more good nights were exchanged before they were gone. Harm turned and began to walk toward the back of the house.

"I'm going to finish up chores." His voice carried into the room while she turned back to her knitting.

"Did you tell them about the cake?"

"Yes, Gramma." His voice had that slight tinge of impatience that people use when their elders press them.

"You made it sound like it was a favor for you?"

"Yes, Gramma." She turned toward Mac, a silent question in her look. Mac nodded, amused by it all.

"You're a good boy, Harm."

"Yes, Gramma." The door squeaked open, paused, then they heard it close at the same time they heard his boots on the back steps.

They continued quietly for a few minutes before Mrs. Rabb spoke again. She knew Mac was considering the evening's exchange

"I've known their families most of my life. Those two are older than I was when I married. But they seem so young…" her words faded as she recalled her own days as a young wife.

"So you know their grandparents?"

"Actually, dear, their great grandparents. Isaac's granddad went to country school with my Harmon." She could tell Mac's brain was struggling to figure that out. "Kids marry young here. It's less complicated---less outside problems. Those two have known each other since they were toddlers. I actually thought they'd marry sooner than they did. I think his parents wanted them to wait to make sure. But like most stories, young love wins over parental wisdom and experience. These kids, they want what they want and that's the way it usually goes. One way or another." She looked up at Mac for a short bit, then spoke again.

"Why don't you try to talk with Harm. He's probably out in the shed. Just follow the light." She turned her attention back to her knitting, apparent in her expectation that Mac follow her suggestion.

***********************************************************

It was just as Mrs. Rabb had said. Harm was in the shed. She saw the light go out, then his figure come out into the shadow of the building, closing the door behind him. He turned toward the barn and she followed him.

"Harm, wait up." He paused a bit, then continued on his way---a bit slower but he kept walking. She followed him into the barn; she was far enough behind that he already turned the light on by the time she entered. He went about his actions as though she wasn't there. After a few minutes she forged ahead.

"So what was the thing with the pie?" She hoped if she could begin a conversation, he might be a bit more approachable.

"What thing?"

"You know; the serving, the passing, the looks?"

"Oh that. It's kind of local custom. They serve the men first---he is the head of the family and they're big on recognizing that. But he's also the protector and is responsible for caring for his family, so he gives it to his wife, or others in his care first. A man who doesn't care for his family isn't respected by the rest of the community. It's an old world thing…" After that the silence returned, and she could feel it all radiating from him. She waited a few minutes and spoke again.

"Come on, Harm. Can't we talk?"

"Why did you come here? What do you really want?"

"I told you. I was hoping we could talk."

"Talk about what? What's left to say? For me, 'never' pretty much said it all."

"So, you can delay discussions when you want but I can't?"

"I delay discussions until we're out of the line of fire. You terminate them."

"But you don't? Should I remind you about an evening in Australia?" At those words he stared at her.

"Oh, you mean when we were in the middle of a case, I was trying to regain my footing, we were on shaky ground and I said 'not yet'? I didn't say 'never'. I didn't say 'no'. You said 'never' and you said 'no'…" She began to object but he wouldn't let her. "..When you took another man's ring. That's about as 'no' as it gets."

"I thought we were past that. You know… the whole starting back at the beginning thing?"

"You brought it up." He turned away.

"Harm, please. You're right, I shouldn't have. But in Paraguay, things were about as bad as they could get. I'm sorry about the way the whole thing happened. I am so sorry. I wish I could change it. Webb was hurt. I couldn't fix that. That bastard killed those people. In front of me. I couldn't stop him. I just couldn't deal with it. It was all so out of control. I've spent all these weeks, all these months, trying to put it to rest. The only thing that I still want, still need, is to work it out with you."

"Well, I'm not doing this anymore. I had to give up that life. It's gone now. It's done." She heard the unspoken words under the anger in his voice. _'I had to give up that life… so you wouldn't be killed'._ She wasn't really prepared for him to continue---she wasn't really prepared for this in any way, even though she thought she was. But she came to him. There wasn't any turning back now.

"You once asked me a question. You got your answer." The bitterness was dripping from his words. "I gave up everything I had. Not to compete, not to manipulate. But to save your life! I should have passed the test. But in the end I still failed. I still lost." He paused, trying to control his emotions. "Go home, Mac. Go back to D.C. Let it go."

The desperation began to inch its way into her; how could she ever let it go? Would all the terrible things associated with that assignment really mean the end? Would all the other influences really change what had been for so many years? She just couldn't let that happen. The bad guys would win. It would have all been for nothing. He came to her to keep her alive. She never once believed his actions were based on him winning---that just wasn't in him. Always his risks were for the greater good. He was always willing to risk his own life, his own circumstances for the benefit of others. He never acted for his own benefit.

But this entire thing was so wrong. She knew it. He knew it. He shouldn't have had to risk anything. The price paid shouldn't have been on him. But it was, all of it. The more she thought about it, the more desperate she became. Without even thinking, without consciously acting, the words were spoken.

"What about our agreement?" He looked at her, not understanding; not knowing what she meant. "You know, five years?"

His expression then became one of astonishment; not understanding, not believing what she meant.

"I can't believe you." He was incredulous.

"You made a promise Harm," she opened this line of discussion, too late to stop now. "The conditions you gave still exist; in less than nine months, AJ Roberts will be five. You made other statements, Harm…" Still after all this, he knew what she meant---_you'll always have someone who loves you…what I want most is to never lose you_; they were still tied to each other, in spite of his feelings now. "…but they didn't come with promises. This one did. Or was that promise only valid if things suit you?"

It took some time for him to get over the shock. When he did, he walked past her, heading for the door; "I just can't believe you." He turned out the light and left her standing in the dark.


	6. It Still Hurts

Chapter 6, It Still Hurts

Mid-October  
Central Pennsylvania

She quietly continued her knitting, as was her custom at the end of a busy day. In years past, for years past, she quilted in the evenings. But her vision was no longer good enough to work without natural daylight. So she knitted. It was relaxing and kept her hands nimble. She made everything from full sized blankets for wedding gifts to booties for new arrivals in the community to socks for her recently-arrived grandson. And like quilting, it satisfied the need for a creative purpose. More importantly, it served to keep her occupied when loneliness crept in.

She heard the door close but only one set of footsteps---and it definitely wasn't Harm. Mac came into view and looked into the room. She was hesitant to face Harm after their conversation. Gramma Rabb looked up.

"Where's Harm?"

"I thought he already came in. He was ahead of me."

"No, dear. He didn't come inside." At the look of concern that clouded Mac's features, she continued. "He's probably enjoying the quiet evening. He does that sometimes. Come sit. I'm sure he'll be in soon."

Mac sat quietly in the same chair she had occupied earlier. Mrs. Rabb continued her work, knowing Mac would speak up if left with her thoughts long enough.

"I made it worse."

"Oh?"

"Well, I sure didn't say the right thing. I think he's even madder than before. If that's possible."

"Maybe so. But maybe not. He's been pretty angry all these months. It shows on occasion."

"I don't know what to do to fix it. You know, it doesn't have to be this way. He could have his place back at JAG. The admiral told me it was Harm that refused. I know all the staff would welcome him back. And he and I… we could work it out. We always have before… He didn't even give us a chance. He just left." She sat quietly for a while. Mrs. Rabb sympathized with her; she could feel Mac's sadness, could feel the sense of helplessness burdening the younger woman. "I wish I knew how to reach him."

"Honey, that grandson of mine… He can be a bit difficult. He's held that anger all these months and I can see it eating at him. Maybe what he needs is the chance to release some of it, come to terms with it so he can get past it. Maybe you coming here will make him face it. As much as I'm glad he came here, I can't help him with this. It was the same way when he came here before. He needs to work things through in his own time, in his own way. Let him sleep on it. We'll all go to church in the morning. After we get back, we'll have Sunday supper and if he's still being this way, you head back home; there's not much else you can do." They sat for a while and she could tell Mac was distressed by it all. "Maybe he'll come around after he's had more time to think it through. That's usually the way it works with him."

The silence returned while Mac retreated into her thoughts. She knew this about him. It took him a while to process things; even then he was hesitant to speak out. He would consider all angles, speculate on all possibilities, review his own previous actions---usually very critical of himself---and still he would hesitate in actions pertaining to personal relationships.

"Do you knit, child?"

"No, Ma'am."

"Well, come over here and I'll show you the basics. Maybe you need something to keep your hands busy and your mind occupied. It's a good thing to create something yourself." Mac moved next to her on the sofa and watched the older hands operate the needles and yarn. After a few minutes of demonstration, she helped Mac hold the needles properly and showed her how to work the yarn. It was this scene that greeted Harm when he finally came in.

Mac was concentrating so hard, trying to get it right, that she didn't even hear him come in. He stood at the doorway to the front room and was struck by simple interaction going on between the two women. The view stirred a response in him that he couldn't begin to explain; he couldn't have under interrogation. He had never been one for melodrama, but the sight brought about something so deep it was almost painful. Suddenly, they became aware of his presence and his eyes met Mac's. It snapped him back into motion.

"I'm heading up to bed." That he didn't actually say goodnight wasn't lost on either one of them. They both sighed and turned back to the knitting.

***********************************************************

When Harm came down for breakfast, both his grandmother and Mac were in the kitchen enjoying hot coffee and beginning breakfast. They were talking and Harm was again struck by his response to seeing them together. They noticed his presence and looked up.

"Hi, Harm." "Good morning, Harmon."

He mumbled an acknowledgement and slid into his seat at the breakfast table in the spacious kitchen. He sipped at his juice and sat quietly, staring but not focusing on anything in particular. His grandmother set a cup of hot coffee in front of him.

"Mac will come with us to church…" She heard Harm take a breath and she turned her gaze to him, challenging him to speak. He turned back to his juice, silent. "…then I'll start our supper as soon as we get back. That way we can have an early meal and she can drive home before it gets too late. It looks like it will be a good day for you to get that painting done."

"Yes, Ma'am." He didn't say anything more. Not then and not the rest of the meal. As soon as he was finished he went out to the shed to set up the supplies and tools for his task. By the time everything was gathered, it was time to dress for church. He returned to the house, changed into clean clothes then joined the women waiting near the car. Mrs. Rabb was showing off the colors of her fall sedum and ornamental cabbage. He opened the back door for Mac then the front and held it while his grandmother got into her seat. After settling himself into the driver's seat and buckling his seatbelt, they began the fifteen minute drive to the community church. No one spoke.

The ride home was in silence, too. The church service was pleasant enough, a bit long for Mac's taste but the people were nice and the refreshments afterward were great. There had been an array of fresh pastries, made by women of the community, and the coffee was hot and flavorful. She stood with Harm's grandmother while he joined the men on the other side of the room in conversation; she heard an occasional word or two and came to understand they were discussing the expectations for the last phase of fall harvest. The ladies talked of recipes and the final days of the years' gardens. She had never heard of so many uses for pumpkin, nor did she know that people actually still made pear and apple butter. _What was pear butter anyway?_

When they got home, she followed Mrs. Rabb into the kitchen and Harm went upstairs. When he returned, he was in clothes obviously worn for painting. He walked past them and headed out the door.

"We'll be eating in about two hours. I'll call you in…" Again he mumbled under his breath and the door swung shut behind him. He spent the time working on the window frames he had scraped the day before---and considering her presence. They had been integral to one another for so long. Even after all the months that had passed, and the new life on which he was now focused, she still had an impact on his thoughts. A big impact. It was the reason he didn't sleep well; he was unsettled, restless. He was actually grateful for the task at hand, as well as the necessity to finish it. It kept him focused, but the simplicity of painting allowed him to ponder.

It was just shy of two hours when his grandmother called him to wash up for supper. He finished the section he was on and headed inside. They were already seated when he joined them. She looked at him with bit of disapproval but said nothing. He knew what she was thinking.

"I know I'm not really dressed for dinner but I'm heading back out to finish. I don't want to waste the daylight." She simply nodded and bowed her head, then began to pray over the meal.

They were just finishing the meal when the telephone rang. She motioned Harm to stay in his seat as she went to pick up the cordless in the front room.

"That'll be my sister." She turned to Mac. "We always talk Sunday afternoon…" She left them and continued on to the bedroom where she could talk in private. Harm hadn't seen his great-aunt nor her family during his time there but they were going for a visit at Thanksgiving. That group of relatives lived more than two hours away and he knew his grandmother wanted some time with her only remaining sibling. His own aunt would be there too with some of her family and he was actually looking forward to this family stuff. In moments like this, he even missed his mom and stepfather. But today, there was something more. He didn't understand it but that same feeling---almost a pain inside like he felt the night before---came back.

She was looking at him when he glanced up. Their eyes locked for a minute before Mac spoke.

"Harm, I really am sorry. For everything that happened---and for coming here, too. It wasn't my intent to upset you. I just..." She took a calming breath and blinked away the beginnings of tears. "I never wanted to lose you." He continued to stare at her. Finally she spoke again. "And I didn't intend to pressure you into anything either."

"Fine." She had no idea what 'fine' meant so she sat silent. After another minute or so, he spoke again. "I stand behind my word." She wasn't sure what he wasn't saying and found herself too anxious to actually respond. "If you want to go forward with our agreement, fine. But there're conditions now."

"Conditions?" She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or offended.

"The timing doesn't matter to me. You want to wait until the five-year mark, fine. You want to start the process so at that time, you'll be pregnant, fine. I don't care. Shared financial responsibility except for health coverage---which you provide. Joint legal custody." His eyes got colder with each sentence. "But, the child lives here. I get full physical custody."

"What?" Now she couldn't believe it. She was incredulous.

"You heard me."

"So you'll agree to share conception, but not the child? Allow me pregnancy and birth, but not the parenting, the relationship?"

"No, that's not it at all. I lived a life with one parent. I don't want that for my own child. But I'm not having a child of mine live---actually live---your life. You must recognize that you may or may not be around. How often can you---how often do you---actually leave work on time? What about going in early? Are you willing to stay out of the line of fire? Who would care for this child you say you want while you're working long hours and handling the tough cases? What about travel? I want a stable, consistent home for a child. I want the child to know where his or her bed is at night. I think a child deserves that. Not staying with a stranger while you travel all over the world. I can give that life to a child here."

"If I agree to the conditions, I'll be responsible, but I'll never get to see my own child. You want me to give up my job, my life, for you to agree?"

"No. If you believe I would want that, why would you want this kind of partnership with me? No, you can come here on weekends or when you have leave. When my work load allows it, I'll even come down to D.C. for the weekend so you can be together without the travel time." The shocked look on her face didn't diminish; she kept staring at him. His returning stare was equal in intensity. "That's my offer. Take it or leave it." She stared at him for a minute or two, trying to process it all. Then she stood and walked out.

She went up the stairs into the guest room. After gathering what few things she had, she made her way to the front door where she set her bag and her jacket down. Harm had returned to his painting and the dining table was just as she left it. Unwilling to leave Mrs. Rabb with all the work after her generosity and hospitality, she began to clean-up.

While she worked, she fumed over his conditions---and his attitude. It was just as she had said to him all those months previous. They both wanted to be on top---they both wanted control. On the other hand, was she going to continue the fight---and lose him in the end? Besides, logically, what about this plan of his? If she were to remain a single parent in her current career---not much chance for anything else under these conditions, childcare might be a problem. But would she be happy being a few hours from her child? Many parents did that. But was that the life she wanted? One thing Harm said did indeed ring true---she knew him well enough to know he would not choose for his child to be permanently separated from one parent. She wanted it all---the career she had, her independence and a child. She could have those things. But still, it was a three hour drive.

Another thing she knew of Harm was that he would eventually get beyond the anger. If he was connected to her, in time it might work out. She felt that she was being manipulative and that wasn't the woman she wanted to be. It was one of the things she had learned about herself in counseling. She had, on occasion, been just that; it never turned out well. Always there was more heartache for all involved, and usually some collateral damage as well.

Still, in spite of those arguments, she recalled his grandmother's words the previous evening: _he needs to work things through in his own time, in his own way._ And deep inside, she couldn't bring herself to let go. She refused to buy into the soul mates argument, or the suggestion there was just one somebody for each person. Then her mind would come back to the most painful truth of all: how could she ever stop trying? The truth remained: just as she tried to tell him on the porch that night so very long ago, she would always love him.

She was almost done with dishes when Mrs. Rabb came in.

"Oh, dear, you didn't have to do this. I have the rest of the afternoon. You should have taken the time to talk with Harm."

"Actually, we did talk. It didn't go so well."

"Well, I don't want to rush you out. But let's get you on the road. Remember what I said: 'maybe he'll come around after he's had more time to think it through.' Come along, now," and she began to walk Mac toward the door. Once there, Mrs. Rabb pulled her into a hug and Mac had to lean forward quite a ways. She spoke as she embraced Mac, "God be with you. Now, go say your goodbye but don't burn any bridges…" Then she returned to her kitchen.

Once on the porch, Mac stood looking at him for a short bit. When it became obvious he wasn't going to acknowledge her, she gathered her courage and spoke up. She wasn't sure why she was willing to go along; she just knew she wasn't willing to give up. She would wait it---wait him---out. As long as needed.

Suddenly, an epiphany. It rang in her ears, echoing into her head, as though the words had just been spoken.

_Wait, how long?___

_As long as it takes."_

"OK, Harm. I agree. How do you want to go about it?"

"I'll draw up a draft and mail it to you. We can negotiate a final contract from there. You can do your research about the specific method and let me know. I imagine we'll have to work around your 'schedule'. You can let me know when my… actual participation is required."

"I'll call a clinic I know about. Do you want to do this the old-fashioned way? Or what?"

"No. Let the clinic handle it. I'll just show up and provide my… contribution." He spoke with more bitterness than she expected at the suggestion. She found herself hurt that he thought interaction with her that distasteful. It occurred to her that maybe this wasn't a good idea after all. Still, she felt compelled to ask.

"Do you really think being with me is so offensive?"

The look on his face was so intense she could barely stand it herself. She should know better by now than to ask a question like that. She still couldn't understand why she set herself up that way. It was something she had to bring to her next counseling session. Her mind was spinning a mile a minute with all these thoughts but when he spoke again. His words obliterated them all, and as long as she lived, she'd never know why he wanted her to hear it.

"No. But I sure as hell don't want to know what I'm missing." With that he turned away and dismissed her.


	7. It's Time to Let Go

Chapter 7,

It's Time To Let Go

The following weeks were like living on an amusement park roller coaster. She'd be trudging along, overworked and frequently overwrought. Some days she'd be sure it was all a colossal mistake and she'd border on despair. Then something would happen to remind her just how much she wanted a family and how she always, in picturing that family, could only see it with Harm. That was the future she wanted, so very desperately. She would do what she needed to do to have it.

To be part of a family, to grow old being part of that. It was then that she'd remember the words spoken by Harm's grandmother. She'd also recall her visit and how the woman welcomed her into the family home and into her life. Mac could only hope that in time, those traits, that generosity---which she had seen in Harm many times over during the years---would come back to him. She knew them to be part of his character; she forced herself to have faith in who and what he was, beyond all the hurt, the injuries, the anger.

As he said he would, he sent an initial draft. It arrived by the end of October, with more detail than she could have possibly imagined he would ever consider. It was outlined down to the finest of points. She called him to discuss a few minor things but for the most part, it was cut and dry. She also told him about the information she gathered from the clinic. His responses were abrupt, clipped. All that interested him was the date he needed to be in town. Other than that, one word could describe him: rude. He didn't attack but he didn't seem inclined to offer even the most basic civility. The end of every call left her feeling beaten down. At least that was the only way she could---she would---describe it.

But she kept holding on to hope; hope that he would come around, hope that he could accept all that had happened, hope that he would stop blaming her.

There were a couple more conversations and mailings about the contracts and a couple other phone calls about health procedures. His attitude remained the same. Finally, Mac had signed all that he asked and she scheduled the appointments, enduring a battery of tests. Harm would face fewer but there would be some the day of his arrival. After initial screening, if things looked even reasonable, they would proceed to the next level, Harm's actual, physical presence no longer required at the clinic.

He told her he would be spending Thanksgiving with relatives, so they planned to begin after that, in conjunction with her fertility cycle. Mac's anxiety level wavered between high… and sky-high. She didn't feel she could share the details with anyone---it was just too much to explain. She knew the stress would affect the chances for success, so she tried to keep busy, to keep everything as normal as possible.

The evening before the procedure, at the end of her work day, and knowing she would be tied up for the coming days, she decided to visit the Roberts family home. Bud had been away for most of the week on an investigation and possibly could be for several more days. Harriet had only returned to JAG a few weeks previous and was still finding a comfortable routine juggling work and two children. With the Christmas holidays nearing, Mac knew she was feeling the stress. It would provide the perfect opportunity for diversion: helping out a friend and seeing two children she loved and enjoyed.

Harriet was helping AJ finish his presents in the dining room and Mac was keeping little Jimmy occupied. Evening was his active time, making it difficult for Harriet to have one-on-one time with her older son. AJ's behavior was reflecting that and it was a challenge she hadn't really considered when she choose their new home. She no longer had the freedom to choose work; they need her income. Mac knew there were times Harriet took a lot of it on herself because she allowed her judgment to be somewhat clouded during that whole process. But they were friends, and Harriet had been there when Mac needed support and acceptance. This was one way Mac could return the favor. Besides, she really did enjoy the Roberts children.

He started to fuss a bit so Mac sat with Jimmy in the rocker and he quieted down, as long as she held him tight. She noticed a magazine on the end table nearby, a parenting magazine that she knew Harriet began reading before AJ was born. The headline jumped out at her and she picked it up. "The Greatest Gift You Can Give Your Children." Thinking she was heading down the parenthood path, she located the article and began to read.

The more she read, the more it struck her. Slowly, she began to see different aspects of her own life, a different perspective. The child in her arms finally fell asleep and she sat, rocking him a while longer. How could she deny herself this? But how could she go through with it? Really do this.

***********************************************************

It had been a restless night. The words she had read on that page kept running through her mind. As dawn came, so did clarity. With each passing day, the decision had weighed on her, it didn't lessen as time went on. She came to understand why: It wasn't right. Not this way. Several things came into view, actually it was more like the proverbial two-by-four---these details hit her upside the head.

Her relationship with Harm could in no way be described as positive. What was she thinking in bringing a child into that? Thus far, he was unwilling to work it out; hell, he wouldn't even allow there to be peace between them. The animosity he felt overpowered anything else. She had been manipulated and disrespected several times over during her life, starting with her own parents. She was still allowing it. Every conversation with Harm left her feeling belittled, and her already fragile self-esteem was teetering on the edge. She had thought she'd gotten past that years ago, but all this brought it back into view. Even the most pragmatic discussions resulted in her questioning herself: and there was the light bulb. She had been telling herself that she was just feeling a bit beaten down by the whole situation. But truth be told, at the end of each conversation, she felt something she swore she'd never allow herself to feel again. She felt battered.

In the end, that proved to be the tipping of the scale.

***********************************************************

Mid-day, Friday  
New Hope Fertility Clinic  
Washington, D.C.

She arrived at the clinic early and went to the reception desk. She cancelled the appointment and went out to wait for Harm to arrive. She had a while before he was expected; it would give her time to compose herself.

By the time he arrived, she was at peace, sad but calm. He may welcome her decision; or not. Either way, she couldn't be responsible for anything but her own decisions, her own actions, and what she thought was right.

"Hey, Harm."

"How come you're not inside?" The bitterness remained, even after all the weeks past. And it strengthened her conviction.

"Listen, Harm. I have something to say." She took a deep breath, knowing she was ending her own dreams. "We can't do this." He stood motionless; skeptical, suspecious. "It's not right."

"What do you want now, Mac?" The bitterness gave way to impatience.

"I want you to listen. I read something last night and it all finally hit home." She took a deep breath, she might as well be cutting off her own arm.

"Harriet had one of her parenting magazines lying out and I picked it up. It made a lot of sense. It talked about how the best thing you can give your child is to love his other parent. You don't love me, Harm. You don't even like me." When no denial was forthcoming, she continued. "I've lived that life; parents who don't love each other. It changes who that child is, who a child could be. It's a gamble in any relationship but we're not even starting out right. We'd---I'd---be sentencing a child to that before it is even conceived. Always in the middle, always denied that security. I can't do this. So…" She had to take another breath to maintain the strength.

"I'm releasing you from your obligation. I'm sorry you drove all this way---it was selfish of me. But I needed to say this to you, for my peace of mind. For everything, for all of this, I am sorry. I hate that you got the worst of this. I hope you'll one day forgive me. I know you, and this anger isn't you. What I also know is that I will always love the man I know you to really be, the man I have loved longer than I can remember." She inhaled one last time, confident that this was her choice---the right choice, and breathed out words more difficult than she had ever spoken.

"Goodbye, Harm."


	8. Find the Way Back

Chapter 8

Finding the Way Back

"I don't know what to do with this anger."

She had answered the knock at her door, her face pale, sadness apparent in her swelled eyes. She opened the door further, not actually inviting him in but rather, allowing his entrance.

It was a statement, simple and clear. She didn't know how to reply.

By the time she had arrived home, the tears were flowing freely. She had lived many losses in her life. None gave her the sadness that this did. And she finally understood, really understood, what people meant when they said they loved someone so much it was painful. This pain was overwhelming. She wasn't only letting go of him now, she was giving up all the hopes she held for her future. Every dream she had included him. Those dreams were dead now, she was letting them die, actually allowing them to die; she needed to learn how to let it all rest in peace.

After she had turned away from him in front of the clinic, he stood frozen for some time. He didn't even see her walk away. But she must have; they were in the middle of the block. Not far away was one of the many small memorial parks that could be found throughout the District. He found himself sitting on a bench in the December cold. He sat for quite a while, thinking and rethinking all the things she had said, and the truth in it. He had been willing to do the same thing she was. How could his perspective become so skewed that he would have taken this action? What did it say about his priorities that he would compromise his very basic values and beliefs? And worse, yet---how come she saw it for what it really was but he didn't? He pondered and considered, contemplated and deliberated as he slowly became aware of the decreasing daylight and temperature. In the end, his only thought: _How did I let it come this far?_

He returned to his car, knowing he could no longer control his anger. It was controlling him, influencing his decisions, his perspective. But why now, after all the experiences he'd had, why had it ended this way? He couldn't understand how it all went to hell or why it remained the same after so many months. But everything she said was true. He was angry. Hell, he was furious, enraged---and every other adjective he could think of. And it was all directed at her. Logically, some of it indeed should be, but not all. Some was the admiral… _that sonovabitch, now he chooses to be by-the-book_, some was Webb… _the snake, I always knew he would be trouble_, some of it was the circumstances, which wasn't really anyone's fault. It was all true… including the part that he really didn't like her, much less…

_Oh God!_ He couldn't say it, even as angry as he was, he couldn't admit it. He couldn't bring himself to state that he didn't love her. He did still love her. He didn't know when it started but he knew it wouldn't ever end. _What a mess! What a screwed-up mess._ But he didn't know what to do about it, how to fix it. _They're winning, this long after it all, those bastards are still winning._ Well, he didn't know how to fix it, but there was a way to find answers. The same way he'd been finding answers for the past eight years. Through all the struggles and the squabbles, the misunderstandings and mistakes, all the confusion, rash decisions, arguments, and hurtful words, he always came back to her. The answers were always discovered with her.

He drove to her apartment; if she opened the door, they could talk. She didn't seem angry when she left; even he recognized, clueless as he could be, the sadness in her voice, in her eyes. But it had to end. Somehow.

With her door open, he walked in, taking advantage of the fact that she didn't refuse him. He stood awkwardly for a minute while she settled herself back on her sofa.

"Somedays, it's all there is. I don't know what to do about it." He looked at her, expecting something but not knowing what.

"I don't know what to tell you. I've apologized several times over. It hasn't changed anything all the other times. I don't think that's going to change now." She looked away, sighing. "Harm, I can't fix this."

"How is it that this doesn't bother you more? This was your thing. I just came into it at the end."

"Harm! You can be such an idiot. It does bother me. But I got help. Hell, in the beginning I went to counseling every day. Every day, Harm. It was six weeks before that changed to every other day. Then it was twice a week. I still go to counseling every week." Sometimes he could be so exasperating. "And besides, even though you think you 'just came in at the end'," she mimicked his words with some of that bitterness he'd been freely expressing, "you had your own share of trauma."

"I did not."

"You and your macho denial. Sometimes I could just clock you… How rested were you when you got there? Really? I could tell you hadn't been sleeping well. For how long, Harm? I've known you long enough to recognize that about you---even when I'm half out of it. And I saw all those dead bodies at the compound. I'm not even referring to those two missionaries. How exactly did all those men die? Then of course we had to throw in that argument---just like we always do; nothing new for us. And let's not forget the plane crash…" at his glare she amended her statement, replete with sarcasm, "oh, excuse me… the hard landing. Yeah, I'm sure that didn't provide any unpleasant memories. Then top it all off with a concussion. You're right, what was I thinking?" When she described it all in detail like that, it was quite eye-opening. He stood, speechless.

She continued, "I suppose you're also denying everything that was already stressing you before that. At least my life had been on an even keel before all this. Well, as much as it ever is. Relatively, I was actually pretty stable; I was actually doing pretty good, surprising as it is for me."

"I don't know what you mean. I didn't have that much stress. Besides being in the brig, I mean---but I was innocent. The truth came out---just as I knew it would."

She rubbed her face, "Again, Harm," then held her hands in front of her face, palms inward, about an inch apart, "I'm this close to clocking you. You didn't have much stress? Who exactly are you trying to lie to? Let's see: how far back should I go? You had just begun to get past, really get past, your grief about your dad when you found out about Sergei. I know that threw you off kilter." She looked him in the eye and nodded her head, questioning him, looking for reaction. Seeing none, she continued.

"Then having to tell your mom about him---about that whole thing. You know you never really told me about that visit, but when you got back, I could tell it weighed on you. I can only guess how it went over with her, especially after her response to you even going to Russia in the first place. That you did tell me about, remember?" She was really on a rant by then.

"Then Sergei in a POW camp. Then him coming here. Then him leaving here. I know you felt helpless to fix it when your own mother made it worse, and the conflict that still exists with her---are you even talking with her now? Is any of this sounding familiar? Of course there was Singer, and Sergei's interest in her. That was nothing to you, I'm sure." Her sarcasm was pointed and on target.

"So, anything else? Well, there was that minor incident with the nuclear missile but surely that wouldn't upset a big, bad Navy fighter jock like you---it just upset the rest of us. And then, Bud. Harm, I saw how you carried that around on your shoulders for weeks. That's not a bad thing---it's one of the wonderful things that makes you who you are: you care about others, about people, especially if they're your friends. And except for a few brief minutes, you were strong for all the rest of us, helping us, helping Bud and Harriet, fighting for Bud. I know you felt like you *had* to succeed in getting him reinstated.

"And through all this there were those couple of conflicts with the admiral---do I need to detail all of that?" Pause; she waited to see if he had any response to that. "Then there was the rest of the stuff with Singer. It is awful how it all ended, but God forgive me, I'm not sorry she's dead. And how about everyone's favorite commander: Lindsey. Even before we heard Singer was dead, I know you took a lot of his accusations to heart---like it was all your fault. I know that about you, too. Sometimes you think that the problems around you, especially if they involve you, well… that you should be able to fix them. It's what you do, fix things. You hate it when you can't control it. So do I. But sometimes, we fix things in different ways.

"And as mad as I was, I know how upset you were during the whole Singer investigation. Being in solitary in the brig aside, you were misjudged by a whole slew of people; I'm sure it seemed by all your friends and you had to depend on people you didn't even know. But all of us towed the party line. We were all good little sailors and marines; you must have been so proud of us---none of us questioned the orders to stay away from you. Oh, but by the way, that meant all your friends abandoned you. But, yeah, that probably didn't bother you either. Now let's top it all off with my brief visit to you after they finally released you---not my finest moment, I'll admit. Are you telling me that didn't leave you just a bit put-out?" She took a breath and stared at him, challenging him.

"So, go ahead, tell me how everything has been just peaches and cream all around for as long as you can remember. I dare you."

Just hearing it all related to him was enough to overwhelm. He sat in the closest chair, leaned over with his face in his hands. He rubbed the palms against the skin, breathing deep then sighing. Finally he sat back in the chair and looked at her.

"So now what? What do I do now?" His pleading eyes tore at her heart, and she couldn't help but forgive everything ever past. But what she had learned through all this was that it was not something she could fix. She had no answer and her eyes reflected that. He leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling.

"Oh, God. I hate this, everything about it. I don't know what to do. The only thing I know is that I still feel the same way: the thing I want most is to never loose you." Suddenly, a shred of clarity, "but when you said never, I did loose you. I couldn't deal with it, not with any of it. It's only gotten worse." He sat quietly then. She knew he was struggling to make sense of it. That was a fundamental part of his personality, how he processed things.

"Well, Mac, you've always come up with the dispassionate plan I needed before." His coping abilities must have been wearing thin because the sarcasm returned. "Tell me what to do now. You seem to know everything---to have all the answers"

"Not this time, Harm. You need to get help. Like I did. Go to Bethesda and get a counselor. You're in the reserves, you can get help there. Or go to a VA in Pennsylvania. Or a county doctor. How about a private practice counselor somewhere near you? Or the pastor at the church your grandmother took me to---he seemed nice enough. If he can't help, maybe he can tell you of a pastor that can. But somehow, you need help. There's no shame in it. If anything, there's shame in denying it and letting it all stop you from living the life you could have otherwise."

They sat quietly with their own thought for several minutes. Just as she was beginning to wonder if he was still awake or aware, he spoke again.

"If I do, will you wait for me to figure it out?" That question took her breath away. Could it be that she hadn't killed all her dreams? That what needed to be done, that what she needed to do, was force him to some kind of resolution? She didn't know the answer to that: what she did know was that she'd grasp hold of any possibility to not lose him either. Still…

"What kind of wait are you talking about?"

He smiled, quite possibly for the first time since that weekend in October when she showed up in the drive way. But try as he did, he couldn't really come up with a definite answer.

"A few months maybe. If I can get somewhere with this, maybe then we can talk. But I'm flying blind here, Mac." He stood up and moved toward the door. She matched his actions and joined him as he put his hand on the doorknob. He turned to her and reached to embrace her. She readily responded in kind.

They stood that way for a few minutes then she tightened her hug for just a few seconds. "I'll be waiting on you." With that she released him and he opened the door. He spoke just before turning to leave.

"I just don't know when, but I'll call you when I think I'm getting a handle on it."

***********************************************************

The days, the weeks, the months crept by. He sent an occasional note. Sometimes it was an actual store-bought card, other times it was just a short handwritten note on a scrap of paper. He didn't say much, nothing of substance, really. She thought it was his way of letting her know he hadn't forgotten about her. In truth, he wanted to make sure she didn't give up on him. But he needed more time before he could call.

It wasn't really necessary, she knew him well enough to know that he'd follow through. If nothing else, he was, as the admiral had said, predictable and a man of habit. In spite of the uncertainty of waiting, she felt more confident than she had since… well since the months just after they returned to headquarters after Bud had been hurt. During that time, they seemed to have gained an appreciation for the opportunity to work it out. They were actually making some progress toward understanding before it was all shot to hell. So she continued with her own counseling and went on with her daily routine, trying to have something close to normal.

***********************************************************

1915 EST, Tuesday evening  
The second week of February  
Georgetown

She trudged in the door after another long day at work. The admiral had some personal issues going on and was stressing the entire office. He wouldn't discuss it and Coates was beside herself with both concern and curiosity. Also, Mac was really getting sick of winter. Spring should be coming to D.C. soon. Only a few hours to the south, in Norfolk, it was already warmer and the early bulbs were already in bloom. Mac had seen them during a quick trip there the day before and was spoiled in just that short time. Any day the weather should be on the upswing.

She heard her cell ringing in her bag and hurried to set her things down. It took another few seconds to fish it out, all the while thinking that, if something was demanding her attention this evening, she might just have to hurt someone.

Instead, first surprise… then delight.

"Hi, it's Harm…"


	9. Epilogue

Epilogue

July 4  
Washington, D.C.

"Mac." They had arrived mid-afternoon and found a nice, grassy spot for their picnic. They had taken the opportunity to walk from Georgetown to an area where they could relax, enjoy the holiday and wait for fireworks. Their blanket spread on the warm ground, they had eaten and already closed up the small picnic cooler. They were sitting quietly, shoulders touching, enjoying a relaxing afternoon in each other's company---enjoying a favored game: and people-watching.

"Hhmmm?"

"I'm sorry."

She had wondered when he would introduce yet another painful topic. It had become a pattern since that weekend in February. His phone call that late winter evening was brief: he asked, actually asked, if she would agree to see him on Saturday for an afternoon date. He suggested that they spend the time together, enjoying some hometown sightseeing and, if she was up to it, maybe dinner. It was something like that most every time they saw each other since.

***********************************************************

They had spent a lot of that February day walking and talking, catching up with light conversation---trying to re-establish a connection that had been developed over several years. The world was beginning to darken outside and they were seated for a short rest in a quiet alcove of the museum. They had a view of other sightseers and were enjoying a lighthearted, playful game of speculation identification of strangers. There had been a lull in passers-by when his tone changed and he spoke words that ended their game.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen to you."

_What?_ She would always be grateful that at that moment she was astute enough that know he was changing the focus and direction of their conversation. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not going to suggest I understood---hell, I don't understand now---what you were going through in Paraguay. But I wasn't listening to you. I was so caught up in so much else that I didn't hear what you were saying. It may not have changed anything, but maybe we wouldn't have been fighting each other." He looked directly at her, wordlessly, looking for something, anything, to give him a sense of absolution---and that they might be able to work through it all, toward a new kind of relationship.

"Maybe, Harm. But maybe not. I was too overwhelmed to think straight. I could give you a dozen reasons but it would barely cover the surface. We both made it worse."

"I want us to stop that, Mac. I don't want to make it worse anymore."

"Then let's stop fighting each other and work together." She extended her hand to him, "Apology accepted." Their eyes met as he grasped her hand and they stayed connected for several seconds. Then she smiled, reassuring him, and nudged him with her shoulder.

It was the beginning of a pattern. He'd come to D.C. at least every other weekend, sometimes it was two weekends in a row. In the beginning, he only told her that he had been seeing someone and that it seemed to be helping. He had indeed approached the pastor of his grandmother's church. Mac's statement about him being nice was true: the few times Harm had actually spoken to the man had left him with a good impression. So he visited the man's office one day, looking for some guidance. The pastor had, as Harm suspected he might, hesitated. He was not all that experienced with needs related to unusual, difficult or traumatic situations. But he did know of another pastor, whom he considered a competent colleague, who did have education and experience that might be of help. After an introductory phone call, Harm began to meet with him. It was difficult but Harm was trying to be hopeful.

He did share his frustration that it seemed to be taking a long time. He was not one to be patient in these kinds of situations. But he stuck with it and she could only assume that he made a little progress every time---since he brought a new subject each time he visited. At first it was some random event that was troubling him, some more significant than others. Actually, some were quite minor---and she barely remembered them, if at all. But, apparently, each topic weighed on him so she joined in the effort to work through it and truly put it behind them, into the past. _God, no wonder everything had exploded into such anger; he carried so much on himself that it's not surprising he was pushed to the edge._

He'd always call by Wednesday and ask for a date on the weekend. It the beginning, it would be several hours on one day of the weekend. She wasn't sure if he was trying to take it slow, ensuring she wouldn't feel rushed, or if that was all the intensity he could handle. She tended to choose the latter.

Even so, each visit had the same general pattern. They'd catch-up with the happenings since their last visit; go on an entertaining but neutral activity, then find a relaxing venue to enjoy the world around them before going out for dinner, a movie, maybe a concert or even one time, dancing. It was during the quiet segment of the day that he'd bring up some difficult subject. They'd talk it through, he'd want to make her understand, as well as gain understanding from her on points that confused or upset him. In the first few visits, it would start with an apology. That changed the week after Easter.

They were sitting on a park bench near the tidal basin, enjoying the remaining cherry blossoms. Silently, just being in each other's company, they had walked from Georgetown and were resting before heading back to her apartment. He had brought a change of clothes and they planned to go out to a nicer restaurant, something out of the ordinary for them. His voice cut into the afternoon peace.

"I saw my folks."

"Excuse me?"

"My mom and stepfather. They came for Easter. We had a regular family holiday." She waited for him to continue, having learned that he rarely related these details in a timely fashion. They sat in silence for several minutes.

"I called my mom a couple of weeks ago and invited them. They agreed to come out even though there was a lot of other family there. My grandmother hasn't seen them since I was in the hospital a few years ago. Maybe that's why mom agreed---thought there'd be a buffer. They came on Saturday and stayed through Monday morning."

"How'd it go?"

"Not bad, but… Well, I guess I'd call it marginal. I found some time to talk with my mom and I told her some things I wanted her to know." He turned his attention to some ducks swimming not far from their bench by the water, seeming to gather his thoughts before continuing.

"I told her I was in getting counseling and I was trying to understand both my actions and other people's perspective." He's turned to her with a smile weighed down by irony. "In some ways that's new to me. Oh, I can see their point of view if it's similar to my own life, but beyond that… well, that's not really my strength." His face turned serious again and he looked her directly in the eye. "But I really am trying."

She put her hand on his arm, hoping to offer understanding and encouragement. After a several seconds, he looked back out over the water and remained quiet for a couple of more minutes before speaking again.

"I told her I was upset that she refused to help with Sergei, but that I was trying to see her point of view. But I also told her it didn't help when she underestimated me." His tone changed as did the direction of his story. "I never did tell you about my last trip out there. I had to tell her about Sergei; it was something I had put off. I didn't want to open it all back up and hurt her more. She assumed the reason I didn't tell her was that, according to her, I was still protecting my dad. I didn't want to argue so I let it pass. In hindsight, I should have argued." He got up and began to pace a bit. "Hell, he was dead by then---long dead. There wasn't anything left to protect. In telling her, I was the one---not him, me---I was hurting her. It didn't seem to occur to her that I cared about that." He finally stood still but continued after a deep breath.

"You know, its part of that controlling thing. It took me a while but I finally came to terms with him being dead. I accepted that it wasn't my fault---or my responsibility. I knew looking for him hurt her. Hell, I knew it when I was 16. But I did it anyway. Even though I thought it was the thing to do, I still felt guilty that it hurt her. I guess I thought if he was alive, it would justify it all. When I was a teenager, I thought if he was alive it would make it all better." He shook his head, understanding just how foolish he'd been all that long ago.

"But now, when I met Sergei, I wasn't even looking for it, I didn't know he existed. I had put it all to rest and I knew she finally had the closure she needed. Any remaining doubts were gone and she could have peace with it, we both could. But then Sergei came along and I knew what it would bring. That's really why I didn't tell her at first, why I kept waiting. I just hated the thought of hurting her more. I would be doing what my dad had done to her all this time. But here I was. Not only was I not fixing it, I had to make it worse. I couldn't control it. Once it was published she was going to have to find out." He came and sat back down, taking her hand, as if looking for strength.

"Maybe if I had told her, explained to her then, she wouldn't have come into the situation on the defense. She might not have been predisposed to feel threatened." He took a few more minutes to control his reactions before continuing.

"She says she'll try, too. There was some other stuff, too. But that was the biggest part. We'll see, but really, I'm not all that optimistic." He sat back, relaxing a bit after he shared it with someone, with her. "Anyway, I wanted to tell you."

That alone spoke volumes to her. It was a sign that he was trying to connect, not just because of the unfinished business between the two of them. He wanted to share other parts of himself as well.

It was early in May when he expressed that he wanted to see her every weekend. For the most part, she wasn't traveling as much as she had been. While she was in counseling multiple times each week, her travel was scheduled to accommodate that as much as possible. By the time she was only attending sessions on a weekly basis, they were up to full staff and several, even some of the junior attorneys, were able to carry a greater share of the burden. So her role as chief of staff included more administrative elements. It was beneficial to both her and to JAG headquarters. With the admiral retiring, her direct assistance to the in-coming JAG was frequently needed.

She traveled shortly after Memorial Day, away for ten days. Upon her return, she took some vacation time. She hadn't taken any recently and her accumulated amount was notable. So she asked to visit him. She took the remainder of the week once the case was completed and stayed through the weekend. It was the longest time together since… well, he was hard pressed to recall. But it was also the best extended time they'd ever had. After that, they began to visit two days on the weekend. They'd find activities around the area; there was always a lot to do in metropolitan D.C. Each visit was more enjoyable than the last, but it was apparent he was still hesitant to jump to another level. So the intimacy, as warming and appreciated as it was, remained companionable.

***********************************************************

July 4th  
9:00pm

"Mac."

"Hhmmm?"

"I'm sorry."

She took his hand, giving him the time and support to continue, while waiting for the fireworks to begin.

"I regret the way things happened in Australia. If I had done things differently, it might have changed the course of the last several years. I can't tell you how sorry I am for that."

"I appreciate you saying that, Harm. But it may or may not have changed the path. And I'm not without blame." She squeezed his hand and brought it to her lips for a small kiss. "So, I'll forgive you if you forgive me. What do you say?"

"Well, yeah… I mean… I do, forgive you. I always forgive you… but still…"

"What?" She answered in that melodic-but-suspicious way he recognized. She was knew there was far more than what he was saying. Even her eyebrows indicated she was wary of his direction.

"Well, I keep thinking that if I hadn't hesitated… well, I wouldn't still be wondering…" His words fell off and she beginning to suspect. But there was no way she wasn't going to enjoy torturing him a bit.

"Wondering what? You're not really making a lot of sense here."

"Well… you know.." He blushed a bit. "What it's like… What I mean is… You know…" Finally, it began to dawn on him that she might just be antagonizing him. _So, we're going to play, huh?_

He leaned a little closer, lowered both the volume and tone of his voice and spoke directly.

"I'm wondering if it might be time to make love with you."

"Well…" she said softly with a small but wily smile. _Oh, yeah we're going to play._ She'd just been waiting for him. "You know, it just might be. Maybe these won't be the only fireworks tonight. We'll see…"

His face opened into a full grin, all the way to his eyes and he leaned into kiss her softly. When he pulled back, his gaze was intense, yet cautious.

"You know, there's still a lot to talk about. We need to be sure we aren't making assumptions."

"I know. I also know that if we have this, all the other stuff is do-able. We're both very good at negotiation when we're trying to find acceptable solutions." She got a different kind of look on her face: suggesting, flirting; the kind that caused a sense of anticipation. "I've heard that negotiation can be quite fun."

He smiled again and their lips met for another soft kiss, which coincided with the first of the evening's fireworks. They both chuckled at the absurdity of the timing then they settled back onto their blanket to watch the night sky light up, signaling the long-held celebration of liberty and freedom. But this year, on this night, for two observers it was about far more.

***********************************************************

Although it was just after dark, the sky was brightening. They had come out of hell, leaving the dark behind and heading toward…well, what he anticipated would be a different kind, a new kind, of light. It was getting lighter around them. It was an artificial light with intermittent bursts of color exploding above them; the remnants of spent fireworks lingering in the hazy sky over metropolitan D.C…

Fini

~~~Thank you for your attention and kind, encouraging words.~~~


End file.
